Amour de soi
by valmontes
Summary: The war is over and Hogwarts is once again a safe haven for those that have nowhere to go. But everything is not as it once was. How can Ginny be at peace when her best friend brings with her a dark secret from the past? Can she handle the changes happening around her, or will she let her anger overpower her instead? D/G.
1. Chapter 1

_Hello and thank you for your interest in my story! This is my first major fic, after several one-shots I published when I was a little bit younger and a couple unsuccessful attempts at something of a larger caliber. It is set after the Battle of Hogwarts and is a reinvention of the mythical '8th year' that some characters were supposedly meant to complete. It majorly diverges from canon after that, and I also made some small alterations to previous events and character backgrounds which should become self-explanatory as the story develops._

 _I also feel like I should note that this story will include mentions (not graphic descriptions) of rape and violence._

 _I hope you enjoy this chapter - do review and let me know what you think!_

* * *

 _ **AMOUR DE SOI**_

* * *

According to familiar accounts, Rousseau held that humans are actuated by two distinct kinds of self love: amour de soi, a benign concern for one's self-preservation and well-being; and amour-propre, a malign concern to stand above other people, delighting in their despite. [N. J. H. Dent and T. O'Hagan, "Rousseau on Amour-Propre" in: _Proceedings of the Aristotelian Society, Supplementary Volumes_ , Vol. 72 (1998), pp. 57-73+75]

Rousseau attributes to all creatures an instinctual drive towards self-preservation. Human beings therefore have such a drive, which he terms _amour de soi_ (self love). _Amour de soi_ directs us first to attend to our most basic biological needs for things like food, shelter and warmth. Since, for Rousseau, humans, like other creatures, are part of the design of a benevolent creator, they are individually well-equipped with the means to satisfy their natural needs. Alongside this basic drive for self-preservation, Rousseau posits another passion which he terms _pitié_ (compassion). _Pitié_ directs us to attend to and relieve the suffering of others (including animals) where we can do so without danger to our own self-preservation. [Jean Jacques Rousseau in the Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy]

Indeed, Rousseau's account of amour-de-soi– a pre-societal, more instinctual form of self-love – may be at work here. Humans may be interdependent without showing desire for esteem or approval ('non-relative' desires); such as the desire to help others because of the pain we imagine to 'feel' ourselves when seeing one of our own suffer. [Theodore Bass, "Freedom, Morality and Self-Love? Reinterpreting Rousseau's Amour-propre as Fundamental for the Virtuous Citizen", in: _Reinvention: an International Journal of Undergraduate Research,_ Vol. 6, Issue 1]

* * *

 _ **Monday, 4th January 1999**_

The Potions classroom in the dungeons looked brand new. Back in Snape's time it had always smelled of old damp clothes, a stench which Ginny gathered it had acquired through its vicinity with the Lake. Now, however, said stench was gone. The room was bright and clean like a St Mungo's operating theatre. Gone were the dusty jars, vials, flasks and other overall dodgy artefacts Snape had kept in his classroom, gone were the stacks of books piled up on shelves. The otherwise bare walls were now decorated with diagrams presenting the cultivation of plants and the correct treatment of various ingredients available to expert brewers, including, it seemed, pulverized narwhal tusks (which should be stored in opaque glass jars, airtight, preferably vacuumed, to avoid lumps) and fern flowers, which need be handled with extra care due to their rarity and fragility and used no later than a week after harvesting. At the back of the classroom there was a new board, covering almost the entire wall.

"Good morning class. No need to sit down just yet, please wait at the back of the room - just form a row, if you may, and do so with as little noise as humanly possible. You may or may not have seen me at the Sorting Ceremony last week, my name is Adelaide Archambault and I am your new Potions teacher."

Ginny moved her chair with a screech, assessing the new Professor quickly. She was a very tall black woman, rather large, with a neat turban on her head and a modest set of indigo-coloured robes. She had a sonorous voice with a slight French accent and the expression of someone who is not used to hearing the word "no". Her voice, although calm and composed, also had an authoritarian tinge that didn't sit very well with Ginny.

"I believe I should let you know I am only here temporarily", Professor Archambault continued. "I have taken two years' leave from Beauxbatons to assist Professors McGonagall and Flitwick in running the school and preparing you lot for your NEWTS, which shall be at the start of July, and setting you off toward adult life. I want you to understand that you are at a very privileged position to be back at school for those six months, so use them well. Potions is a demanding subject, so I expect you to be diligent and dedicated, and, believe me, it will pay off in the future.

"Now, the reason why I asked you to move to the back of the room is because we will be trying out a rather innovative set-up this year. Some of you will be condensing two years' worth of an education into two terms, so I need you to do your absolute best in class and outside of class. We are going to achieve this by splitting you into pairs. There should be six pairs, if I remember correctly, _un, deux_ , _quatre, six,_ yes, that's right.

"You are from now on Potions partners. You will sit with your partner in class; you will consult your partner first when unsure about an ingredient or method before coming to me; you will aid your partner with homework, if need be; all in all, everything you do, you do with your partner. You help each other, you work together, you challenge each other, you test each other out. Ideally, one of you should be slightly more advanced, so if there is anything you can explain to your younger partner, you do it. I have no interest in your private animosities. You are supposed to be colleagues, not best friends. I shall now read out the names and you will take your cauldrons and your books to your designated desks, three pairs in each row. Have I made myself clear?"

"Yes, Professor," twelve bored voices replied.

"Good. The pairs are, as follows. Number one, Miss Brocklehurst, Ravenclaw, and Mr Nott, Slytherin. Take your stuff over to the desk on the left. Thank you. Next: Miss Bones, Hufflepuff, and Mr Milligan, Gryffindor. Number three, Miss Barros, Hufflepuff, and Mr Goldstein, Ravenclaw. In the back row: Miss Seeger, Ravenclaw, and Mr Bellamy, Gryffindor. Miss Parkinson, Slytherin, and Miss Weasley, Gryffindor."

 _Oh Merlin,_ Ginny thought. _Merlin, no, no, please, please don't say it._

Pansy Parkinson threw her a sour smile as she dropped her cauldron on the desk.

 _Please don't. Don't let it be true. Please, Merlin, I beg you._

"Miss Lovegood, Ravenclaw, and Mr Malfoy, Slytherin."

 _Fuck,_ Ginny thought.

"Any questions, doubts, thoughts about this setup are to be discussed after this class. I am in my office until nine in the evening, you can come in at any time if you wish to complain. You will now open your textbooks on page six and start reading. If you do not finish the chapter in class, you are expected to read it in your own time and make notes. There will be a test on this next time round. Good luck."

Ginny hid her face in her hands, casting a glance to the desk on the right. Malfoy had already opened his copy of _Advanced Potion Making_ and he seemed to be skimming it disinterestedly, chin rested on the back of his hand. Ginny thought his calm very suspicious. To his right, Luna was currently leaning backwards to pull her hair up in a bun. She, apparently, didn't think him suspicious at all.

"Miss Weasley, page six please."

Ginny looked up and met Professor Archambault's unnervingly steady gaze. It was then that she decided she didn't like her. She cast another glance at Malfoy, who was turning a page in a menacingly slow move, and opened her book.

* * *

 _ **Friday, 1st January**_

The familiar ride in the Hogwarts Express had been especially uneasy. Ginny had expected relief, a warm sense of familiarity and homecoming, or at least some indescribable sort of comfort, but instead she was struck by how empty the train was, how dark, how hostile. She'd waited for Luna at the station, as had been agreed upon. Luna had actually insisted on coming, against Ginny's advice. At least we'll be in this together, Ginny had thought, looking out for her friend's characteristic dirty blonde mane and fluffy coat. _I'll make it up to her,_ she'd thought, that horrifying year, _I'll make sure she loves it and appreciates it. I owe her that._

Her whole family was there with her – mum, dad, George and Ron, Hermione and Percy, even Harry, though she hadn't wanted him to. She could barely hold back tears when they were saying their goodbyes, and after entering the compartment she stopped trying and cried for a long time, until she grew tired with the effort. She thought of our goodbyes almost exactly a year before, long hugs, kisses, whispers; only that Harry, Hermione and Ron hadn't been there, they'd already gone, and Fred was there, _Fred_ , he'd winked at her from behind Molly Weasley's back and insisted that Ginny continue the clandestine Wizard Wheezes trade among the oblivious first-years; and Molly had scolded him, as always, but good-naturedly, she was very proud, wasn't she, she was so proud of him and George…

She knew Ron had got very involved in running the establishment with George. They were currently doing some important new developments and were staying together in London, in two tiny flats above the shop, one for George and whoever he happened to bring home and one for Ron and Hermione, with a neat little desk by the window and a balcony where Hermione had planted tomatoes and strawberries and where Ron would go to smoke his Lucky Strikes. Harry had a mattress in George's flat, in the kitchen or in the living room, depending on the day, where he stayed full time after several failures at being a responsible Auror-in-training who has their own flat and doesn't have to sleep in other people's kitchens.

Ron promised he'd write, he whispered the promise in Ginny's ear, hugging her tightly, and she responded with the same. She felt that this was a commitment she could stick to without remorse, and because he was her brother, _her own_ brother, their correspondence wouldn't increase the feeling of exclusion from their tight little trio that she'd always had and that had increased after her break-up with Harry. George, too, promised he'd write, and write often, although in all honesty Ginny suspected he wouldn't, and that would be okay; as long as he didn't reverse to the sleepless nights and fits of rage he'd had during his months at Shell Cottage, as long as he didn't scowl at everyone and scratch his arms absent-mindedly and lie in apathy for hours on end, Ginny would be happy. He was still very thin and had considerably less hair on his head than he used to, probably due to the fact that he wasn't eating, but his smile was warm and genuine, and the minute they let go Ginny knew that he would be the one she'd miss most.

Ginny and Luna were alone in the compartment, and they were silent throughout the journey. Not that they didn't want to talk; it just didn't seem right. Ginny thought of how in a similar compartment, only a year earlier, they'd sat with Colin and Neville, snacking on Bertie Botts', playing cards, exchanging holiday memories, Colin flooding them with his pictures from the Isles of Scilly and Portugal. She thought of how excited he'd been to see Harry when he was eleven, and how eager he'd been to be his friend; she thought of their countless little sneak-outs to the kitchens for hot chocolate, how he'd always ask for extra marshmallows, how he would always get so messy and spill some on his jumper or his Arsenal trackies. She thought of all that and she cried even harder thinking of how he wasn't going to be there this time. He was gone. He was – he was somewhere else.

His parents and Dennis had gone to North America during the summer, to live there permanently, that was what she'd heard. She wasn't sure and she wasn't going to go around looking for them.

Luna was very sad, too. It didn't necessarily show, but Ginny perceived it. Through the years they spent together, as Ginny went from a thinly concealed disdain for Loony Lovegood to the most fervent friendship she had ever had for anyone, she'd learnt to recognise the small changes in Luna's peaceful countenance that betrayed sadness, anger or disquiet. To a stranger, Luna in her present state could appear perfectly serene, even chirpy; she'd gained weight over the summer, her face was bright like the full moon and her voice light and airy. But as the hours of the train ride passed and Luna did not say a word and simply bored her stare into the window, it was clear as day that she was very, very sad.

They did not speak to each other once throughout the journey; Ginny had questions, of course, because although Luna had spent the entire summer and autumn with Bill and Fleur at Shell Cottage, Ginny only saw her a couple of times over November and December as she popped into the condo above the joke shop for dinner; they spent Christmas together as well, at Shell Cottage, as the Burrow was still undergoing repairs, but that wasn't nearly enough, and anyway during those times they could hardly get any privacy. But they were not in the mood for talking.

It was only after their arrival, as they were getting out of the carriage, that Luna spoke:

"I wonder what dinner is going to be. I'm quite hungry."

Ginny tried to smile in response but only managed a lopsided smile and a quiet sob. She recalled her first night at Hogwarts, on her own in front of the Great Hall, trembling under the Sorting Hat, and the warm flood of relief and pure, pure joy on hearing its confident _Gryffindor_ above her head. She then sat between Hermione and Holly Hamilton, a small curly-haired girl from her year - she thought briefly about the big fight they'd had in fourth year and she asked herself if they were going to share a dorm again this year – opposite Fred and George who kept throwing things at her. Next to them was the very dashing Oliver Wood, who smiled. Then Ginny cried again, harder, because she remembered her eleven-year-old self looking up and seeing Dumbledore at the High Table, for the first time.

Now she stood in front of the entrance to the Great Hall, hand in hand with Luna, hesitant before their first step.

When they stepped into the castle, Ginny felt overwhelmed by nausea. She felt very uncomfortably out of place. Everything _looked_ as it had before; the same staircase, the same paintings on the walls. But it _felt_ different. There was a different smell. It smelled like a hospital. It felt new.

They were one of the last people to enter the Great Hall, and, inevitably, they parted before heading to their respective tables. There were very few people, and as Ginny glanced over to the group of nervous first-years standing below the High Table, Professor Flitwick shushing them vigorously – how many were there? Maybe thirty? Not very many – she thought that their arrival wouldn't fill the Great Hall in any way. It had never been this empty before. She glanced up at the ceiling; it was darker than usual and there were very few stars.

She sat down between Neville, whom she greeted with a long hug, and Holly Hamilton, who looked just as uneasy as herself. Apart from Holly there were only three people from Ginny's year: Sam Bellamy and Luke Milligan, two pillars of professor Flitwick's tenor section, and Selena de Soto, her and Holly's roommate and Gryffindor's chief heartbreaker. The year above was represented only by Neville, Seamus and Dean. She looked around to assess the state of the other houses. There weren't many more people, although the years below were much more numerous.

The only exception was the Slytherin table. It seemed as though half of the students, if not more, were gone. From the year above there was Pansy Parkinson next to Draco Malfoy, who was talking to her under his breath, Daphne Greengrass, who was further down the table next to her sister Astoria, and a boy with his back to her whom Ginny guessed to be Nott. There were only five people from Ginny's year, huddled together in a tight group, and the years below didn't look much better.

Ginny wasn't too surprised. Many of the old Slytherin families, even those who hadn't had very strong ties to Voldemort, had fled or perhaps sent their children abroad, to Durmstrang, Beauxbatons or Castelobruxo. Ginny wondered what it was that had kept those of them who'd decided to stay. No surprise with the Greengrasses, whose families, although pureblood, had never been affiliated with Death Eaters. The Parkinsons had been much closer than appropriate to Voldemort's inner circle members, but Ginny imagined the link hadn't been strong enough to be accused of anything, so with some effort and networking they didn't risk much in staying in the country.

Malfoy and Nott, though? What were they doing here? What were they even thinking?

As far as Ginny knew, Nott _p_ _é_ _re_ had been put on trial and forced to pay war reparations, which for Ginny seemed reason enough to flee and never return. Why would he send his son to Hogwarts? Why would the son in question choose to?

And then there was Malfoy, now bowed down so low that his face was almost entirely concealed, muttering something to Pansy's ear. He had also been a frequent guest of the Wizengamot over the summer, and how he avoided Azkaban having attempted _murder_ was beyond Ginny's understanding. As he spoke, Pansy nodded vigorously and rubbed her face every now and again, in a gesture which, if Ginny didn't know better, she would attribute to someone wiping away tears.

Ginny thought Malfoy was very thin, and his hair had grown.

She fixed his eyes on him, imagining his Dark Mark on his left arm, just under his sleeve.

She thought that every morning, when buttoning his shirt or pulling a jumper over his head, he glanced at his forearm, checking if it was still there. She thought of how fabric glided over it, barely touching it, as if it, too, was disgusted by what it was.

Was it hurting him? Did it sting him at night? How does it feel, thought Ginny, having this imprinted on your body? Does it itch? Does it burn? Does it remind him every day of the cowardly scoundrel he is?

Ginny hoped so. She thought he should have cut his arm off.


	2. Chapter 2

_Hello again! Thank you very much to those of you who commented on my story and added it to their alerts and favourites. Thank you to my readers from Japan, Bangladesh, Venezuela and other amazing corners of the world that I'll probably never visit, and thank you to my new readers - I hope you leave a word or two, whether you like this story or not!_

* * *

 ** _2._**

* * *

21\. It is peculiar to man to love even those who do wrong. And this happens, if when they do wrong it occurs to thee that they are kinsmen, and that they do wrong through ignorance and unintentionally, and that soon both of you will die; and above all, that the wrong-doer has done thee no harm, for he has not made thy ruling faculty worse than it was before.

[Marcus Aurelius, _Meditations_ (VII:21) _,_ translated by George Long]

* * *

 ** _Friday, 1st January 1999_**

Professor McGonagall stood up and took her place at the podium. All eyes were on her, and she seemed to deal well with the pressure – her chin was very high up and her face was as stern as ever. When she started speaking, however, it became visible that it cost her a lot of effort to maintain that strong façade. Ginny thought Professor McGonagall sounded out of place.

"Before I say anything," she started, and she was heard perfectly thanks to the ghastly silence that had taken over the Great Hall, "I'd like us all to rise and in absolute silence spend a moment remembering my eminent predecessors, professor Albus Dumbledore and professor Severus Snape."

They did. Ginny swallowed hard and squeezed Neville's hand.

"Let us remember their service for the school community and their years of tireless work for the entirety of Hogwarts," professor McGonagall continued weakly.

Ginny glanced towards the Slytherin table again. Draco Malfoy's face was white as a sheet. Ginny wondered whether this was how he looked up in the Astronomy tower, when—

But her trail of thought was lost as Professor McGonagall cleared her throat and continued her speech:

"In the last couple of months professors Slughorn, Flitwick, Vector and I have spent a great amount of time in the Ministry of Magic, discussing the future of the school. You should know that there were many voices calling for it to be closed and remain shut over the following years. I myself thought that sensible. Not so long ago – not so long ago we witnessed and participated in a spectacle – in a spectacle of – of terror and cruelty which took place within these very walls, in the one place which should have always been the safest and which always has been the best and most secure environment for young witched and wizards pursuing their education. And despite – despite the horror that had been imposed upon us all this purpose has not diminished. Every single one of you has the right to complete their education here or gain sufficient knowledge so as to continue it beyond the school. And each and every one of you will be granted this opportunity. We fought for Hogwarts to be open again. You will all be given an opportunity to pursue your future in it and beyond it. For some of you this is just the beginning of your life at Hogwarts, a place all of us hold very dearly in our hearts, and I hope – I know – that you will soon find out why. For those of you who have come here for their last year, or re-joined us, we expect that it will be at least a small compensation for you, a glimpse of normalcy, a chance to pass your exams as you would normally have done, a chance to find your place in the Wizarding World, as you _should_ have done. "

* * *

 ** _Monday, 4th January_**

"Outrageous," Ginny repeated for what seemed the millionth time. "Absolutely outrageous. I can barely believe it. No, I definitely can't. This just isn't real. It isn't happening."

Shaking her head, waving her hands in the air and presenting all the tell-tale signs of someone who is struggling to contain their fury, Ginny was pacing up and down the conveniently empty dorm. Like all senior Ravenclaw dormitories it was intended for only three people, so it was significantly smaller than the Gryffindor ones, and it was a lot brighter as well, which gave it a calming quality. The windows were enormous and let in plenty of natural light falling on the soft indigo carpet, three walnut desks, a shared wardrobe and three smaller chests of drawers as well as a number of bookshelves on the silvery blue walls. Luna shared it with two girls from her year, Constance and Sinead, who had also decided to stay for the year, and whom Ginny had never really got to know.

"Calm down," said Luna, leaning back on her bed.

"I will not calm down! This is a health and safety issue. She should have done her research before coupling you with that son of a—"

"Ginny, honestly, it's _fine._ "

"No, no it isn't. I will intervene. I will even if you won't. I'll talk to her, I'll tell her about the damage she's done, or I'll tell Flitwick, I'll even take it to McGonagall…"

"There's no need."

"What do you mean there's _no need_?" Ginny cried. "You were kept _hostage_ in this guy's _house!_ They kept you in their wine cellar! How dare she pair the oppressed with the oppressor? What was she thinking? As if you weren't severely traumatized already! Merlin, this school is a mess. I don't want to think about it anymore or I'll seriously flip out. I need a snack."

Breathing heavily, Ginny collapsed onto one of the empty four-poster beds.

"I'm serious, Luna. I don't want you to go through any more pain. This set up is just thoroughly unacceptable and I'll make sure you're kept far away from that wanker. I'll speak to McGonagall tonight, she'll understand. To be honest I don't even know how the hell Malfoy has managed to get into school. He should be sent to some kind of re-education camp or something."

There was a brief but heavy silence before Luna spoke, quietly,

"Ginny, look, I know this might be a little difficult for you to understand, but I would appreciate it if you didn't take it to McGonagall. I don't want to you speak to anyone about it. I don't want you to file any complaints. I don't mind sitting with him or working with him. In fact I'm quite happy about it. I think both him and me were quite lucky to be paired up with each other."

Ginny's jaw fell open.

"Are you out of your fucking _mind?!_ " She cried once she had collected herself. "What the fuck, Luna? How is this setup lucky? How can you be happy about it? He kept you in his fucking house—"

"Okay, first of all, I am _perfectly_ sane and it is rather insensitive of you to bring that kind of argument up. Secondly, it wasn't him who took me hostage, it was his father. And thirdly, I know I was kept hostage in his basement, it was me they took, not you, I'm the one who's lived through it and with that in mind I know exactly what I'm saying when I say I'm very lucky to sit with Draco Malfoy. And I will even tell you why if you really need to know."

Ginny stood still, arms across her chest, looking visibly unconvinced.

"I'll lay it out to you step by step," Luna said, her tone sour. "But promise me you won't interrupt me. You'll probably have a lot to add and you might be happy with what I say. I want you to listen and accept what you've heard as a fact. And I don't want you to discuss it with anyone. I don't want you to tell Ron, or Neville, or Dean, or whoever else might ask you about it. You are the first person I'm discussing this with and I want you to remain the only one."

Ginny nodded.

"I can keep my mouth shut," she said.

"You better do. But we have to get out of the dorm first."

She got up and Ginny followed her out of the dormitory and then up the stairs, at least two or three floors above the area of the tower taken up by the dorms. Although Luna's face displayed hardly any emotions, Ginny could tell she was upset by the way she clenched her teeth together, and the way she did not turn to Ginny, didn't even throw her a glance, not once. Ginny knew she should feel bad for being so pushy, for overstepping an invisible boundary, but really, she wasn't at all. Boundaries didn't matter when Luna's safety was at stake. She was rescued from the Malfoys once already. Ginny wasn't going to let her be mistreated again, not if she could help it.

Secretly, Ginny was glad to have made her friend angry. It was an emotion, and from what Ginny had witnessed Luna had steered clear of those ever since her arrival at Shell Cottage, once Bill and Fleur had helped her overcome her initial distress. Ginny obviously didn't see her much during those months. Luna refused to return to school for the Battle and as far as Ginny was aware didn't leave the Cottage until at least September, spending the entirety of her time with Bill, Fleur and George, who had taken to silence and solitude after Fred's death. Luna's letters mentioned him every now and again, usually saying something like, " _I didn't get to see much of George this week, he hasn't had a meal since Monday_ " or " _George and I spent several hours today sitting by the river and looking at the water. It was very pleasant. There was a small pink crab sitting on a rock that I particularly enjoyed_ ", or even at one point, " _George is in a bad mood. Fleur was in the living room with little Matilda when he came downstairs to make himself some tea. He got very upset when he saw the baby and shouted profanities at her. Bill was going to call for Healers from St. Mungo's to take him in but George has threatened him with barricading himself in if he did that_." Luna's letters were generally concise and painted a rather happy picture of her life at the Cottage. Bill's letters usually confirmed this: he frequently mentioned she was eating well (she was extremely malnourished when she arrived at the Cottage) and was helping out with Matilda, whom Fleur had given birth to in late July.

In September Luna finally allowed herself to be seen. Ginny visited the Cottage regularly, and Luna often flooed Ron and Hermione's little flat above the joke shop, for tea or for dinner. She was generally very quiet, sometimes cheerful, but not in her usual bubbly way. Her smiles were wistful, and never reached her eyes. She spoke less, and never on her own; Ginny sensed that some profound change must have taken place, at some point at the Cottage, when no one was looking, and it was worrying her.

This anger, perhaps, was a step in the right direction. Maybe it was a sign for Ginny – that all was not lost.

Just when Ginny's thighs were beginning to burn a little, and as her hitched breath prevented her from getting lost in her thoughts, Luna stopped before a small, heavy wooden door.

"This is the entrance to our house library," she announced, her plump hand resting against the door for support, as she, too, struggled to contain her breath. "It's really Professor Flitwick's study room, but he lets us use it from time to time. _Alohomora._ "

They entered the room. It was low and cramped, and the air was dry and stale. There were only a few very small arched windows, each composed of a different pattern of stain glass. It was divided into compartments with rows of bookshelves cramped with heavy volumes, and there were several small desks in between them, with two fat candles at each top corner of the desks. Luna led the way through the room until they reached a hollow shelf in the wall containing a small marble basin.

"This is our Pensieve," Luna said. "It's only meant for practice, so it can only contain so many memories, but it will do."

She pressed the tip of her wand against her forehead, and very gently released a silvery strand, letting it flow into the Pensieve.

"When did you learn to do that?" Ginny asked, amazed.

"Oh, professor Flitwick taught me to do that long ago," said Luna casually. "Just be aware that this is an amalgamate of memories rather than onev fully developed one. This is not a very good Pensieve, nor am I very good at extracting memories, and, in fact, I don't remember that period very well. And, please, keep your mouth shut about what you will see."

"Of course," Ginny said. She stared into the glossy surface of the Pensieve, unsure what to expect, taken aback by her friend's openness about the subject. Her hand gripped the edge of the Pensieve, unsure what to expect. It was smooth and cold, rather like ordinary stone. Only Luna's memory gleaming at the bottom of the basin reminded her that this was an instrument of powerful magic.

"Well?" Luna said impatiently. "What are you waiting for? Hop in."

* * *

 _It took Ginny a good long while to orientate herself in the dungeon. It was very dark, so dark that in the first couple of minutes she could barely see her own hands when she stretched them out in front of her face. The air was cold and damp and carried around a very unpleasant smell._

 _After a while, she made out some sources of trembling light; an awning on one of the walls and an outline of a door above a flight of stairs. The light they provided was very faint and sometimes disappeared, only to come back again after a few seconds. Ginny reckoned this was probably because of the quality of the memory._

 _Eventually, she made out a chair near the stairs, occupied by a man. His sharp features and dirty coat were barely visible in the light provided by the awning. Ginny could hear him snore._

 _Another awning appeared and as the turned round she saw Luna hunched in a corner. She almost jumped when she noticed how ill she looked. She was precariously thin, her dress was torn, and her breathing slow. As Ginny turned, she saw Mr. Ollivander in the other corner, lying on his side, asleep._

 _Suddenly the door opened and another male figure appeared. Luna jumped up, squinting to see who it was, pulling her dress down to cover her knees. The guard on the chair rubbed his eyes and looked up quickly._

 _"It's just me, Rookwood," said Draco Malfoy. Ginny's blood boiled. "I'm taking over."_

 _"That's new, innit?" said Rookwood. He got up and stretched out his back. "I thought your father wanted to keep you from coming downstairs."_

 _"It's not up to my father and it's not up to you. In future you should probably keep your opinions to yourself."_

 _Malfoy's hoarse voice was cold, and you could tell that he was used to ordering people around. But he spoke quietly and without the usual arrogant verve. Ginny supposed he wasn't exactly volunteering. In the cool light of his wand Ginny could see his face, his jaw tightly shut. He wasn't as emaciated as Luna, but it was obvious he was not his healthiest self. He wasn't that different from what he looked like a few days back during the opening ceremony – except that he was staring straight ahead, not hiding his face in shame, and he was wearing his usual expression of disgust that made his face look very unattractive. He could barely keep his nose from wrinkling as he sniffed in the heavy air and, supposedly, the pungent smell of Rookwood._

 _"Hurry up, you're being asked for," Malfoy said. "Have they been fed?"_

 _Ginny thought he sounded like a manager at a zoo, or a circus trainer, or perhaps a breeder of some rare sort of animal._

 _"In the morning, as usual."_

 _"Just checking. It would be rather inconvenient if we got rid of our best barter."_

 _"Right," Rookwood said, attempting a chuckle, but Malfoy did not laugh, because he wasn't joking. "Right. Goodnight, Malfoy."_

 _Draco did not reply. The door closed and the room became very dark again, although Ginny could hear him sitting down._

 _The room went completely dark for another moment or two, and when the light appeared again, it was definitely brighter, indicating a change in time perhaps, or at least a sunnier day. The door opened with a thud and Draco Malfoy's voice resounded in the dungeon._

 _"Get up, Rookwood, your shift is over," he said._

 _Rookwood yawned in reply._

 _"You know you're not meant to sleep while you're here," Draco said as he faced the older Death Eater._

 _"It's not the most demanding job," Rookwood replied._

 _"It's a matter of principle," Draco said dryly. "And there will be another one soon. I don't suppose you should like to miss out on the questioning because someone told Lucius Malfoy you don't take your responsibilities seriously."_

 _Rookwood did not reply as he disappeared behind the door._

 _"Breakfast is served," said Draco into the void. He walked past Ginny with two metal trays and placed them on the floor. He was so close that if Ginny held out her hand she could probably touch him. He then clicked his fingers and a large jug of water appeared on the floor._

 _Mr. Ollivander was asleep yet again, but Luna wasn't. Very slowly, in measured movements, she dragged her body across the room on one arm, clearly avoiding using her other arm, to reach the water jug. She drank from her hands, gulping loudly, and Ginny noticed that she was clearly pressing her right arm into her side and bending her head down so she did not have to move her shoulders._

 _"Who are they bringing?" she asked. Her voice was raspy, but surprisingly sonorous. Ginny wasn't expecting Draco to answer, but to her surprise, he said:_

 _"Nobody, I made that up. Or rather, they are planning another kidnapping. But I don't know who that is or when they are going to get here."_

 _He paused, and then asked a little more quietly:_

 _"How's your shoulder?"_

 _"Still on fire," Luna said._

 _"I couldn't do anything," said Draco._

 _Everything went dark again for a split second, suddenly and sharply, like when a gramophone needle stumbles upon a crack on the record and needs a moment to readjust._

 _"I know," Luna's voice said in reply. She was now nibbling on the bread she had been given, looking the other way, and her voice echoed against the walls in a way it hadn't before, eerily reminding Ginny of an evening long ago in a dark, stony place, somewhere deep beneath the Hogwarts first floor girls' bathroom._

* * *

When Ginny emerged from the Pensieve, Luna was still standing next to her, looking quite satisfied with herself.

"What happened to your shoulder?" Ginny asked. She could hear her heartbeat pounding in her head.

"It was after I was taken," Luna replied. "They were questioning me about my contact with Harry, and made Draco cast a spell that fractured my shoulder very badly. It took Fleur a lot of work to bring it back to normal."

"Was that your first attempt at a conversation?"

"Yes."

"I think he sounded awful. He's an awful person. He did awful things to you and to other people."

"He was forced to," Luna said. "His whole family was in danger. He never hurt me wilfully, like others did. I think he was regretting the situation he put himself in. We spent a lot of time talking after this, and after he came back from Hogwarts in the spring, too. But, to be honest, it wasn't really then that we became friends."

"I'd be very worried if that was the case."

"It's not, and you're worried anyway. Please calm down. Anyway, the more important memories that I wanted to show you are those of when I met him in court. You know how there was an investigation against the Malfoys over the summer, right? I testified against them, and I saw him around lots. And after his parents died—"

"Wait, WHAT?!"

"You didn't know?"

"Of course I didn't! How? When? Why? His parents? You mean the Malfoys?"

"I was sure you knew. Everyone knows it. They said it in the Daily Prophet."

"I've stopped reading the Prophet."

"Well, that's probably why you don't know. But you must have heard about their trials with the Wizengamot, they were widely publicised."

"Of course I knew about them, Ron, Harry and Hermione were key witnesses in them."

"So was I."

"Why didn't you tell me?!"

"You never asked," Luna shrugged. "But if you know about the trials, surely you must also know that they were all found guilty of compliance with the Death Eaters. Lucius Malfoy's sentence was fifteen years of Azkaban, Narcissa's was five. Draco was a minor at the time and under enormous pressure, so his sentence was limited to a number of hours of community work and a cession of a part of his income to the Ministry of Magic, on the side, of course, of a huge sum for war reparations that the whole family had to pay. The Malfoy Manor also became Ministry property."

Luna said all this pausing after each sentence, and carried on when Ginny's face made it obvious that this was all news to her.

"The day after the trials were over, Lucius Malfoy committed suicide. A few days after his funeral Narcissa became very ill, was transported to St. Mungo's and died three days after."

"Died of grief, I suppose," Ginny said in a voice that made it clear she wasn't very sorry for her.

"I presume so."

"And Lucius? How did he die?"

"He hung himself."

Ginny's eyes widened in shock as she struggled to contain a loud gasp. In spite of herself, she thought of her own father, unconscious in St Mungo's, after his encounter with Nagini. The memory sent shivers down her spine. She couldn't even imagine what she would do if he took his own life.

"Draco found him, actually. He'd hung himself on a tree in the gardens surrounding the Manor. He did not leave a will, or a letter, or a note, nothing. He just went outside and never came back."

* * *

 ** _Friday, 1st January_**

As the last eleven-year old made her way to the Ravenclaw table, professor McGonagall stood up again and instantly, all eyes were on her. At this point anyone would expect applause, animated chatter in hushed voices, introductions, laughter; but no one clapped, no one laughed, no one dared say a word. Everyone stood still in perfect silence.

"Now, before we begin our dinner," said professor McGonagall in a somewhat more relaxed tone than before, "we would like to share with you some notices on how the school is going to be run. You may sit down."

She cleared her throat.

"Professor Flitwick, if you would like to come up and explain the changes in the system. For those of you who don't know, Professor Flitwick is Deputy Headmaster, teacher of Charms and Head of Ravenclaw. As I retire from my position as Head of Gryffindor House, I hand it over to Professor Charles Weasley, who has just returned from Venezuela to help us here at Hogwarts. Professor Weasley is also the new teacher of Care of Magical Creatures. I expect you all to behave excellently under his care, for he has some very big shoes to fill."

Ginny felt Neville elbow her gently, or as gently as Neville Longbottom could.

"Ginny, is that your brother Charlie? I didn't know he was coming back to England."

"Neither did I," Ginny whispered back.

"Professor Flitwick, if you would like to…"

"Right," Professor Flitwick said. "I'll be very quick, because we're all hungry and would like to get our hands on this delicious mash. In essence, it is very unusual for the school year to open at this time of year, so we have decided to extend the school year until mid-July. If all runs smoothly, the next academic year will begin as normal. That will give us some six months to cover the curriculum and prepare the eldest lot of you for NEWTs. Those of you who were in their final year last year and have decided to return, as well as those who are only just starting your seventh year, are going to have joint classes covering material from both years. For those struggling to catch up there will be support classes on Saturdays and Sundays. Since there are so few of you, we have found it unproductive to try and restore the prefect system. You are all responsible for your younger colleagues. You will all be sharing a variety of duties. There will be a committee for students from all Houses to meet and raise their concerns with us."

"Thank you, Professor Flitwick," said Professor McGonagall. "After supper older students will lead first-years to their Houses. Please make sure nobody is left behind. Your Head of House will organise a provisional meeting to discuss prefect duties in your respective houses, so keep an eye on your house noticeboards. Additionally, …"

"Now, Minerva," said Professor Flitwick, meaning to speak in a hushed tone, but his voice was still heard across the Hall thanks to his _Sonorus,_ "give it a break. I'm hungry."

Professor McGonagall smiled.

"Very well. At this point, Professor Dumbledore would probably say something witty and make us all laugh. But I'm not professor Dumbledore, so I shall limit myself to wishing you a pleasant meal and a peaceful and productive year. Let us hope that Hogwarts can yet again become a place of friendship, healing, and love, for all of us within and amongst ourselves."


	3. Chapter 3

_Hi all! Thank you for your interest in my story, whether continued or new. I hope you enjoy this chapter. I'll be delighted to hear why you did or didn't - be a love and leave a few words, reviews keep my heart warm._

* * *

 ** _3._**

27\. Retire into thyself. The rational principle which rules has this nature, that it is content with itself when it does what is just, and so secures tranquility.

28\. Wipe out the imagination. Stop the pulling of the strings. Confine thyself to the present. Understand well what happens either to thee or to another. Divide and distribute every object into the causal (formal) and the material. Think of thy last hour. Let the wrong which is done by a man stay there where the wrong was done.

[Marcus Aurelius, Meditations (VII:27-28), translated by George Long]

* * *

 _ **Monday, 7th January**_

Ginny had never really properly met Pansy Parkinson. She knew of her, of course, and they might have exchanged a couple of sneers on the Hogwarts Express, or thrown each other a dirty look in the corridor. She'd heard of the nasty things Pansy said to and about Harry or Hermione, and she had some very clear memories of her behaviour in the previous year. But they'd never been properly acquainted and Ginny had never thought that there would be a day when she would have to speak to her civilly.

The first time she'd seen her had in fact been on her first day at Hogwarts. After the Sorting, Ginny had sat down between George and Ron at the Gryffindor table. Her short legs fitted snugly under the table; she'd flung them over the bench with ease. Her feet could barely reach the floor. As she helped herself to the turkey, George had leaned over her ear, whispering:

"The lady next to Dumbledore is McGonagall, the one who led you into the Great Hall. Head of Gryffindor, which means she'll tell you off if you do something wrong – that is, if you get caught. She can be pretty nasty, but she'll like you, because you're a cute little girl and you're a Weasley…"

Ginny nodded, throwing a glance at Professor McGonagall, who seemed to be enjoying her turkey as well.

"The small one next to her is Flitwick, head of Ravenclaw."

"Ravenclaw is the one where all the boring kids go, isn't it?"

"We've taught you so well," George said, pretending to wipe a tear. "Yes, that's exactly the one. The next one is Hufflepuff, it's next to the kitchens so the elves often leave cookies and cocoa in their common room. And their passwords hardly ever change, so it's good to have some friends there in case you ever seek refuge after hours."

"And the fourth house is Slytherin, isn't it?"

"You know all about Slytherin already, though, don't you? Take a look at Snape, he's their Head, he's the quintessential Slytherin. Ugly, showers once a month on average, will do things out of pure spite and hate you from day one for absolutely no reason. In Harry's year there's that kid called Draco Malfoy, the one that looks like a little albino mouse. He is also exactly like that, except for the showers."

"I think I've met him."

"Oh, right, in Flourish and Blotts. Harry mentioned it. What an arse, that one, and his father is even worse. To his left you've got his little posse, Crabbe and Goyle, gross and thick from what I've heard."

"And the girl?"

"Er… which girl?"

"The one in the ponytail."

In an attempt to be discreet, Ginny tilted her chin in her direction. The girl was plump, with slightly slanted eyes and thick, dark hair, and judging by the disgusted wrinkles on her large nose, she was definitely not enjoying her turkey.

"I'm not sure. Ask Ron."

"Ron? Ron! Ron." Ginny whispered, loudly.

Ron wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Who's the girl next to Draco Malfoy?"

"That's Pansy Parkinson," said Ron. "She's in our year. She's friends with Draco Malfoy and she's really mean. Don't worry about her."

As Ginny watched Pansy Parkinson wipe her cauldron clean and position it about her desk, she noticed how much Pansy had changed over all these years. Her plump cheeks have receded to reveal protruding cheekbones and a sharp chin. Her nose, on the other hand, had only grown rounder, as had her shoulders. She was, overall, still ugly, with the ugliness of a person who thoughts are bad and it shows on their face.

To their right, Draco Malfoy was yawning. Ginny thought that he, too, displayed an ugliness that came directly from within.

Could Luna not see? There were many things she was oblivious to; but those were trivialities, and the Luna Ginny knew had developed an astonishing awareness of things, of her surroundings, and most importantly of people. The Luna Ginny knew could read people like one read a book; she could predict their reactions, normalise their quirks, see patterns where others saw random behaviours and retract from their words an essence of the meaning they themselves had ignored. She could form opinions on people in a matter of seconds based on what she herself called 'aura', and yet she was the most open-minded person Luna knew. How could she have misread Draco Malfoy so? For Ginny knew that in accepting him, in inviting him, Luna had committed a grave mistake.

What was it that could possibly have drawn her to him? He was slick with all the evil he'd committed; it stuck to him like slime, a repellent of good. And yet, Luna, good, sweet, lovely Luna had managed to find a dry spot to which she clung.

Ginny looked at him again, and the sight was disgusting; the aesthetic value of him was hidden under a slippery layer of greed, of hate, of conceit. How could Luna not see?

"Now that you're all familiar with the new rules, we will begin wish a short theoretical test," said Professor Archambault. She flicked her wand lazily and the pile of stapled parchment paper rolls travelled across the room and settled on each student's desk. "It will help me establish what you already know and what you are yet to learn. Those of you who do particularly badly will be set some appropriate reading that they can complete in my office during my open hours or over the weekend. You may begin now, and you may leave the classroom as soon as you're finished."

As letters started to appear on Ginny's copy, she took her quill and began to write.

 _Give a brief description of the basic equipment of a Potioneer and describe the function and usage of each tool, with reference to specific Potions._

That's really easy, Ginny thought. _1. Cauldrons. Cauldrons are typically made of brass, silver and pewter. Each of these materials ensure efficient brewing and are valued for channelling the magic of the brewer, as displayed by Camillus Blair, who in 1795 proved the superiority of said materials over aluminium, which is prone to corrosion._

Pansy Parkinson, Ginny noted, was frowning, bending over her paper protectively.

 _2. Silver knife. Knives are used in a variety of ways…_

* * *

Ginny's second Monday class was Transfiguration. The new teacher was an 80-something year old Israeli called professor Schenfeld, a small, elegant man, and Ginny took an instant liking to him. He wasn't professor McGonagall, of course; but there was something about his composed countenance and the wisdom he emanated that made her think he bode well. Professor Schenfeld spoke little, and was much more concerned with their practical abilities. He set them a number of exercises, some relatively easy and some rather painstaking, and strolled around the classroom, his heavy woollen robes trailing behind him, correcting them individually.

All the while, Ginny watched Draco Malfoy, who was seated several rows in front of her. He appeared very disinterested and Ginny noted with particular satisfaction that professor Schenfeld had to come and correct him quite a lot more than her or her partner, Luke Milligan.

That Malfoy had bad intentions was pretty clear. That he had been cruel to both herself and Luna and countless other people in the past was also undeniable. That he should not have been admitted to Hogwarts was also obvious and Ginny had absolutely no idea what made professor McGonagall let him through. She then remembered her brother was a member of staff this year – a fact which he had not revealed to any member of the family as far as she was aware – and with a bit of nagging he would probably tell her why, and intervene with McGonagall and that blasted Potions woman to have him removed from sight, from school and hopefully from the country.

"So how did you find Potions this morning?" asked Luke as they were heading out.

"Weird. I don't like the new teacher one bit, and I hate being seated next to Parkinson. I thought Slughorn was going to take us."

"Slughorn's retiring. He's teaching the youngest lot this year and then he's out. He told me himself, I bumped into him the other day and we had a really nice conversation. He must have just discovered my existence, after three whole years of teaching me. You going to lunch, right?"

"Of course, I'm starving."

Ginny and Luke followed Neville and Seamus into the Great Hall. As lunchtime had only just begun, students were still pouring into the Hall, robes swishing, cutlery clinking against porcelain plates, benches screeching against the floor as they were being pulled back to accommodate more people. Against the sad drizzle outside, the ceiling appeared as a lovely winter sky, with snowflakes blurring from view an uncharacteristically bright sun. Next to Ginny, two bubbly first-years were chattering with excitement about their first Care of Magical Creatures class, and about the marvellous "Professor Weasley", and Ginny smiled absentmindedly at the thought that she, too, once associated Hogwarts only with fun and learning and adventure; that she, too, once had as her greatest preoccupation the length of a Potions essay or the temperature outside, and that she once complained only about the holes in her robe or that someone had stolen her sugar quill. As she picked up a bread roll and scanned the table in search of butter, she realised that for the next couple of months, if only she allowed it, all of this could once again be true. If only she allowed it. If only she _decided_ that she was back to normal. This thought comforted her more than anything.

"How's it going, Gin?" Neville asked. "You having a good day so far?"

"Yeah, pretty good, actually," Ginny said, and she wanted it to be true. "Hogwarts is… different. Different from before. But also really different from what my last couple of months was like. I'm really looking forward to a more structured life, if you know what I mean."

Neville nodded. He knew what she meant, of course; he knew all about how she felt from the letters they exchanged all through winter, so he didn't have to ask.

"So what were you up to before you came to Hogwarts, then?" asked Luke Milligan, who didn't have a clue about all that.

"Um… so over the summer I was mainly at home with my parents. Our house got burned down earlier last year, if you remember, so we spent quite a long while reconstructing it. By the end of August we already had the ground floor and the first floor done, the second floor was ready by the end of October, and the third floor should be finished any day now, really. It's not the same house, of course, and there will be far fewer people living in it, but my parents wanted to keep the feel of it as it was before, and they wanted to have enough room for the whole family in case we all decide to stay over for Christmas, or for someone's birthday. We got a lot of money from the Ministry as war compensation, so most of it went into the construction works, buying furniture, clothes, that kind of thing. I personally didn't get a single thing, of course, because I was a minor during the war, but my parents got me a vault at Gringotts' for when I graduate."

"So is it just your parents and Ron then?"

"No, Ron's in London at the moment, actually."

"How is he?" Seamus asked. "Would anyone like some pumpkin juice?"

"I'd love some, thanks. He's great actually. He's taken over Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, he's living in Fred's old flat above the shop with Hermione. He's doing really well, he's a real businessman, and him and Hermione are planning to get married sometime in the summer."

"Oh, congratulations," said Luke.

"Yeah, I'm really excited for them."

"What's Hermione been up to?"

"She's going to study Magical Law next year, you know, the one thing she always said she'd hate to do. She's going to sit her NEWTs with us this year, but she's preparing for them herself, and in the meantime she's got a part-time job in Kingsley's office, doing some paperwork, I don't really know."

"And Harry?" asked Luke. "Have you been in touch with him much?"

"No, not really," Ginny said, dabbing a potato wedge with great force.

"But you guys are still going out, right?"

"No, we're not" she said as the wedge turned into helpless mash.

"Oh," said Luke, suddenly becoming very interested in his own meal.

He didn't bring it up again, but he didn't have to; Ginny hardly needed an incentive to think about Harry. She had hardly done much else over the past two – three – five – twelve – God knows how many months. Despite herself on most occasions, in fact; she hated herself for having cared about him so much, for having overthought every single word she said to detect where it was that she went wrong, relived every conversation, every look he threw her; because now, she knew, it had all been for nothing, it had been a waste of time, and yet, somehow, it still hurt.

It might have been that notion that she'd had at the back of her head throughout the time she knew him, the idea that, in the end, they were destined for each other, they were meant to be forever, that it would somehow all come together in the end. The idea that had been so, so close to becoming true. The first time he held her hand, the first time he kissed her (he did, she would never have initiated, for fear that it had all been a dream, a misreading, and that she'd been mistaken), she'd relived those moments an infinite amount of times, and they seemed to her as if she was for a minute or two lifted up from the ground and transported into another dimension. Nothing mattered, nothing else existed, only the two of them, and their happiness, and their _love._ Ginny wasn't sure who it was that said it first. It might have been her; but they both had felt it for so long, and it had become so obvious, that it was hardly a confession, more an observance of a fact, a reminder of what both of them had long known.

But of course, like all good things, it had to come to an end, and like all good things it was ruined by a man. Ginny had thought it through and through a million times – that's a rough numerical estimate, hardly an exaggeration – and she decided that she could not have had any fault of her own. It was him who allowed her close to him and it was him who pushed her away.

The apparent reason was very trivial. She'd always known he had a problem with not being her first, and she never really knew why; and he never really brought it up either, not in all seriousness, not until they argued, when he liked using it as proof that she was somehow unreliable, that he felt as if she made it for him to be at fault, simply because of what had been in the past. And he wouldn't be calm again until she showed him she loved him, until she gave him proof. Ginny thought that reasoning wasn't entirely his fault. That because he'd been denied love when he was younger, he somehow wouldn't believe he had it until he could hold it in his hands and examine it. But she also thought that if she was bright enough to realize it, then so should he; but he clearly did not realize or did not want to realize. And so every time they argued, even over the most trivial matters, he would bring it up, he'd make her angry and then eventually he'd make her feel guilty. Sex in a house with two grown Weasley parents watching you wasn't easy, and Ginny wouldn't necessarily have minded not having it all that often, so it soon became a chore, like a quick prayer before going to bed, that put Harry in a peace of mind and only made Ginny more nervous that they would be caught, all the more tiring because it seemed so unnecessary.

Then of course, when she brought it up, Harry made it so it looked like her fault that he was stuck in her parents' house, and it was only because of that that she wasn't enjoying it; so he went to London and stayed in George's flat when George was in ill and in Shell Cottage, and they were effectively off. But after several weeks Ginny decided she missed him, and she didn't mind, so she followed him to London, much to the distaste of her mother. A month later it became evident that it was not the presence of Ginny's parents, it was Harry himself, and his insistence on not believing her when she said she loved him; so she went back to the Burrow and cried her heart out, asking herself why she was so frigid, why she made him feel like he wasn't loved or accepted, and carried on like that for about two or three weeks until George returned from Shell Cottage. Harry refused to move out and slept in George's kitchen for another two or three weeks; Ron was furious because it was making George anxious and he demanded that Harry moved out at once. Harry found a flat with someone in the Ministry and wrote to Ginny, inviting her over, but by that time she had decided she'd rather not carry on hurting him and that made Harry furious, he broke two windows in the flat that he was renting out and he was thrown out and returned to the flat above the joke shop. Ginny found that absolutely outrageous and refused to see him ever again; saw him once, and he kissed her, and it was unpleasant, so she started crying, and he kissed her again so she cried more and ran out of the room and that was essentially it; they were over, forever, and she was going to Hogwarts without him. She would be without him, forever.

In perspective, having spoken to her mother, and Luna, and even Hermione, whom she wouldn't have trusted with such intimate details a mere month or two earlier, Ginny decided she was in the right. She did not feel guilty, or at least she tried not to; Harry had made it very clear that what he thought love was was entirely different to what Ginny thought it was, and if their concepts of love were so different, why should she settle on receiving what she knew would never be what she could give?

* * *

 ** _Thursday, 7th January_**

Ginny watched the sour look on Pansy Parkinson's face with satisfaction as the older girl scanned the papers given to her by professor Archambault. It was clear the Slytherin had failed; Ginny knew it was silly to feel smug about it, especially because it was something so petty, and yet she couldn't help but feel like she outscored her. She folded her test in half and slipped it under the cover of her textbook and, flinging her hair over her shoulder, got up to leave.

She stopped just outside the classroom to wait for Luna when she heard Pansy's shrill voice call her.

"Well done Weasley," said Pansy.

Ginny looked up at her, crossing her arms.

"Oh?"

"I said well done," said Pansy. Her voice had a very unpleasant, harsh quality which was unmistakably a result of Pansy being an unpleasant person overall.

"Thank you," said Ginny.

"You can wipe that little smile right off your face," said Pansy. "There's no need to pretend. I know you don't like me."

"And vice versa, Parkinson."

"Glad we cleared that up. Look, I don't want to waste too much time on this, so I'll be quick. You know I failed, and I know you did very well. I really need to pass Potions. I want you to help me."

Ginny fought hard to contain a snort.

"You must be having a laugh."

"Do I look like I'm having a laugh?"

"No, you look like you'd just stepped into a puddle of shit. Not my fault you only have one facial expression."

Pansy rolled her eyes.

"That was ridiculous. I was being serious, Weasley. I don't like that you're my partner, but you are. Help me pass my NEWTs. If you don't, I will make sure you fail."

"I'm under no obligation to help you with anything, Parkinson," she said in a low voice. "I'm happy you failed. I hope you fail this entire subject. And I hope that makes you leave and never come back to Hogwarts. Now go."

It was Pansy's turn to laugh.

"If only it was that easy. I wish I could just leave, you know, like you can," she said, her eyes narrowing and her upper lip curling up slightly to form the sneer Ginny was so used to seeing. "If it was up to me, I would be gone today."

Ginny opened her mouth to respond, but she was cut off.

"Come on, Pansy," said a soft voice, "let's just leave".

It was Malfoy, of course; hovering behind Parkinson like a dark shadow. He lay a protective hand on Parkinson's shoulder and with a quiet swish of robes they were gone. Ginny watched them climb up the stairs. Their steps were hasty, as if they had an important appointment, or as if they were running away; and Ginny decided it was probably the latter.

* * *

Later that day was the first day of Ginny's duty at the library.

It was a new responsibility that was introduced because Madam Pince refused to return to Hogwarts in the last moment. The way Charlie had explained it, when him and Ginny were in his office on Sunday evening to share a scone and catch up on the months they had lost, McGonagall had tried to find a new librarian initially, but then Flitwick suggested that handing the position to a student might be more beneficial; and so they came up with dividing the responsibilities to all of the older students, and possibly some fourth and fifth years too, in the future. The week was divided in three-hour long shifts, starting at seven every morning and ending at ten every evening. Shortly before the earliest shift a teacher or Mr. Filch would undo the spell binding the library door; the designated student would arrive with a set of keys and open the doors and sit the shift, taking a break for breakfast. In the evening the process was reversed. The way Charlie presented it, it wasn't that big a deal; you could easily read or do your homework while sitting the duty, as check-outs and returns were done through a charmed book that reminded you when someone was late. Your most important job was making sure that the library was a quiet and clean area, that no one brought food in, and that books were shelved correctly. The library now featured a new area with bean bags and a newspaper stack where the Restricted Section had once been; at the end of the day you usually had to cast a few cleaning spells on it and put the newspapers in order. Madam Pince had developed a pretty sophisticated shelving system that all senior students were taught. Some keen beans suggested organising a 'pick of the week' shelf in the new junior area, but Ginny wasn't bothered.

She didn't mind an evening shift; it was probably better than having to wake up early in the morning. There were few people in the library – a couple of cheerful young Hufflepuffs giggling in the corner, a Ravenclaw girl leaning over a volume that was probably heavier than her body, and Neville and Luna on a table that was close enough to Ginny's desk for them to share the occasional smile but too far for Ginny to hear what was being said when Neville leaned over to Luna and whispered something in her ear.

At about a quarter to ten the library became empty and Ginny got up to complete her chores. She had them listed on a small piece of paper and although she wasn't feeling particularly enthusiastic about them, she wasn't going to just let them slide. The last thing she needed was a serious chat with McGonagall because of illegally smuggled breadcrumbs on the floor, or a candle burning through the night. It wasn't worth it.

She started with the pile of returns that needed re-shelving. Leaving her wand on the desk, Ginny lifted the pile and carried them over to the desk that was nearest to the shelves. There were eight books: two Introductory Charms textbooks, probably left by the merry Hufflepuffs; two very old volumes about herbal brews and "A Short Introduction to Plant Pathology", probably Neville's; a small, very worn-out book on goblin wars; a colourful album with photographs of unicorns; and two wizarding novels by best-selling author Noella B. Moore, "The Truest Spell" and "Stupefaction". The novels were new, although it was clear that they had already been read dozens of times. Each of the glossy covers featured a watercolour-style portrait of a young white woman, with a pinkish sunset behind her.

It wasn't too complicated. The Charms textbooks belonged in the very beginning of the Charms section; the herbs and the plants had to be placed on a very high shelf in the Herbology aisle; Ginny had to climb a chair to reach the shelf, since the ladder that was normally used was nowhere in sight. The goblin wars and the unicorns were a little harder to place, so Ginny had to track them by their exact call number. No fuss.

Finally the two Moore novels. Those belonged in the junior area that replaced the Restricted Section. Ginny still had chills go down her spine as she approached the heavy door, although she knew that instead of the gloomy aisles of the Restricted Section she was going to face a bright cozy room with a mock fireplace; still, the memories she had of the Restricted Section made her hesitate as she stood before the ominous door.

Don't be silly, she thought, gripping the handle and pulling the door towards her.

She let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding when she saw that the room was empty. A warm light shone over the brightly coloured bean bags and the thick carpet that covered most of the floor. The shelves were full of board games and popular novels; a little further down there was a neat pile of _Witch Weeklies,_ a full selection of Quidditch magazines ranging from popular weeklies to sophisticated quarterlies printed on thick opaque paper (the newest one featuring a photo of Oliver Wood in a Muggle-style suit holding a quaffle under his armpit and with a Quidditch robe hanging over his shoulders); and finally a whole section devoted to newspapers, a couple of issues of _La Giornata Magica_ , a slightly thicker stack of _Le Monde Magique_ , and finally a huge collection of _The Daily Prophet_ ; Ginny knew for a fact that the school archives contained every single issue of the paper, and that what was on display went about five or six years back, although not all of it could be reached very easily.

Isn't it funny, Ginny though as she pushed the stupid Noella Moore romances between two equally mindless titles, that someone in twenty or thirty years' time could sit down and track down all of our years at Hogwarts just by reading all those _Daily Prophets?_ Seven years of fear, seven years of Voldemort; they could read about Sirius breaking out of Azkaban and they would shrug, not knowing what we knew; they'd read the scandalous news that Professor Lupin was a werewolf, and they would be horrified, not knowing him for the sweet, kind, _brave_ man he was. They would probably take an hour or two to read about what took almost our entire lives. What would they think about us? Would they know how slimy Fudge was? Would they be aware that our entire sixth year was a scam, and that everyone knew spells they normally wouldn't learn until the final year of healing school because every day we had to heal children tortured by their peers and teachers?

At that, she remembered something. She glanced at the clock; she still had over five minutes, probably a little bit more since she didn't expect any member of staff to appear on the dot. She put aside the top portion of the _Prophets_ and kept doing so until she reached July.

Starting with July 1st, she scanned the front page and the table of contents of each issue until she found what she was looking for.

 **MALFOY CASE OPENS AT WIZENGAMOT: LUCIUS MALFOY ACCUSED OF MURDER, TREASON, BRIBERY, MONEY LAUNDERING, MORE**

Under the heading was Lucius Malfoy's old Azkaban mugshot, and another photograph of him, Narcissa and Draco led down a corridor by a Wizengamot judge. All three hung their heads low; Narcissa was hiding her face behind her hand. As they moved away from the camera, Draco Malfoy suddenly turned and for a moment you could just make out his thin face and his heavy stare.

Satisfied, Ginny grabbed this issue of the Prophet along with the next ten or so and returned to the main library with the newspapers tucked under her arm. She took her wand from the desk and retrieved the keys from the drawer.

"Right on time, Miss Weasley," she heard and turned sharply towards the door.

"Oh, professor Archambault," Ginny said. "Sorry, I was just about to lock the door. This was my first time doing library duty and I took longer than I should have."

She expected the Potions teacher to reply, but when she didn't, Ginny simply put out the lights and stepped outside to lock the door.

"Look, Miss Weasley," said professor Archambault, "I'd like to talk to you about something."

"Yes?" Ginny said innocently. "Is it about my grade?"

"You know it's not about your grade. It's about Miss Parkinson."

"Oh," Ginny said in mock surprise.

"Is there anything you would like to tell me about Miss Parkinson?"

Yes, Ginny thought; I'd like to tell you that she is an absolute bitch, not to mention a Death Eater supporter, and I hate her guts.

"No," said Ginny.

"Interesting choice of words," said professor Archambault. "I thought you two didn't get along very well."

Like hell we don't, Ginny thought. Do you have any idea what the likes of her did to us last year? That girl should be rotting away in Azaban.

"Not necessarily," Ginny agreed.

"Look. Despite what you might think, it is no coincidence that you two have been paired together. I realise you might not like it, I also know for a fact that Miss Parkinson doesn't like it, as I've received several complaints from her."

Ginny raised her eyebrows, making an effort to appear politely surprised.

"But it's not her choice and it's not your choice either. I've heard you are a very diligent student, Miss Weasley, and I know that you are a very strong young woman. I know you will not disappoint. I want you to tutor Miss Parkinson in Potions."

"What?" Ginny almost shouted, losing her self-control. "I'm sorry, Professor, but that is unacceptable. I'm not doing that."

"She asked you earlier today and you refused," Archambault continued, ignoring Ginny's outburst. "I think it's important that you suggest it to her again."

"I think it definitely isn't."

"I made it clear during our first lesson this week, Miss Weasley. Your grades depend on her grades. Over the course of this year you will do assignments as a team. How do you imagine you will go around that if she is significantly weaker than you are, and that instead of working together the two of you stomp your feet at each other and sulk in the corner?"

"Are you suggesting I am childish for refusing to fraternise with someone who has made my life living hell for the past six years?" Ginny cried.

"No. I am suggesting you are merely being unprofessional. I also believe that it will be beneficial to both you and Miss Parkinson if you put away your pride and start getting along. Suck it up, Miss Weasley. Our next class is on Monday and if either of you make a scene during it, you are both getting detention for the rest of the month. Understood?"

Ginny felt her eyes water and her chin shake in anger.

"Understood," she muttered.

"Go back to Gryffindor tower now and have a think about what I said. Good night."


	4. Chapter 4

_Hello and thanks for stopping by! This chapter is very late and I'm sorry I kept you waiting. I hope you enjoy it, please let me know if you did or if you didn't!_

* * *

 _ **4.**_

There steals over us… a wild longing that our eyelids might open some morning upon a world that had been refashioned anew in the darkness for our pleasure, a world in which things would have fresh shapes and colors, and be changed, or have other secrets, a world in which the past would have little or no place, or survive, at any rate, in no conscious form of obligation or regret, the remembrance even of joy having its bitterness, and the memories of pleasure their pain.

(Oscar Wilde, _The Picture of Dorian Gray_ )

* * *

 _ **Friday, 8th January**_

 _MALFOY CASE OPENS AT WIZENGAMOT: LUCIUS MALFOY ACCUSED OF MURDER, TREASON, BRIBERY, MONEY LAUNDERING, MORE_

 _4th July 1998, London_

 _Death Eater Lucius Malfoy was taken out of home arrest last night together with his wife Narcissa and son Draco (pictured above). As is known, Mr. Malfoy and his family notoriously fled the battlefield after the Battle of Hogwarts and later surrendered to the victorious side._

 _Lucius Malfoy, 43, has been a public figure for the past several years, and we all witnessed his rise and fall within the Ministry structures, which ended with Mr. Malfoy serving a sentence in Azkaban in 1995. Prior to this the heir to the Malfoy fortune had already allegedly been involved with the Death Eater circle for years, ultimately introducing his son Draco, 18, into their structures._

 _Mr. Malfoy is charged with high treason, murder, bribery, money laundering, kidnapping, and other crimes for which the prosecution has proposed a lifetime in Azkaban._

 _His wife, Narcissa, is said to have been an accomplice in Mr. Malfoy's crimes. The Malfoys' son, Draco, will hear that very same charge later today, apart from misprision of treason and attempted murder._

 _Due to the sums conceded by Mr. Malfoy to the ministry, for the past two weeks the family was able to await their trial in their Wiltshire home. The Malfoys have also been granted a private trial, without the participation of the public. While many have regarded this as unjust, Ministry spokespersons assured The Prophet that such proceedings have been chosen due to the wellbeing of the witnesses._

 _"This is going to be a very tough trial", said prosecutor Andrew S. Holmes. "The case against Mr. Malfoy is very strong, but it is essential that we maintain discretion"._

 _When asked about Mrs. Malfoy and the young Draco, Mr. Holmes assured that while the accusations against them are different, there is no doubt that they, too, were involved in the Dark Lord's inner circle. Prosecutor Holmes has declared that the Wizengamot will make the case known to the public in as much detail as possible._

 _PAGE 3: THE MALFOY CASE BEGINS. WHO ARE THE MALFOYS?_  
 _PAGE 4: WHAT IS AT STAKE? THE PROPHET'S LEGAL EXPERT P. CLEARWATER EXPLAINS_

Ginny smoothed out the page with outstretched fingers. At the bottom of the page there was a black and white picture of prosecutor Andrew S. Holmes, a very plain looking wizard, perhaps in his early fifties, with wavy dark hair and a high forehead. Beneath the picture there was a quote in small print: "We will not let these rascals get away with it again". Ginny thought prosecutor Holmes was a very reasonable man.

She turned the page.

 _THE MALFOY CASE BEGINS. WHO ARE THE MALFOYS?_

 _Dear Readers,_

 _As the Malfoy case opens in the Wizengamot, we present to you a cycle of investigative articles designed to bring you closer to the court proceedings and dissecting this complicated case for yourselves. Along with detailed descriptions of hearings and testimonies, we will present to you the main players in this dangerous game of chess. In today's issue, our chief investigative reporter Gonzalo Plum attempts to answer the question that is vexing us all:_

 _WHO IS LUCIUS MALFOY?_

 _Lucius Emilianus Malfoy was born on 21st August 1954, in the Malfoy Manor. An only child, he is the son of Abraxas Malfoy, once distinguished statesman and Wizengamot judge, who died around the time young Lucius was leaving Hogwarts._

 _Despite stellar results and the Prefect badge the young Slytherin proudly donned on his breast, not many of his schoolmates remember him fondly. The Prophet has managed to contact Healer Felix Pierce, Head of St. Mungo's Cardiff-based Experimental Treatment Department, once a Slytherin prefect at Hogwarts who shared a dormitory with Lucius Malfoy._

 _"From the moment I saw him," said Healer Pierce, 40, "I knew he was the domineering type. His father had spoilt him rotten, you know. Lucius could never take no for an answer. If someone disagreed with him, he would bribe them into staying silent, or threaten to reveal an embarrassing secret in front of the whole school. If you think about it, he was a bit of a bully, but we all admired him. He was very clever, and quite popular with the girls, too. It was easy to forget that there was a scary side to him. He could be so charming if he wanted to."_

 _Fresh out of Hogwarts, young Malfoy continued developing his father's fortune, investing in art and building properties overseas. He quickly became enamoured with the beautiful Narcissa Black, and the Black family, impressed with Lucius' impeccable manners and exemplary heritage, didn't mind his involvement with a group of Dark wizards that later became known as the Death Eaters._

 _According to accounts from the early trials after the First Wizarding War, Lucius Malfoy, with his intelligence, loyalty and resourcefulness, shone between the brawling youngsters that had little regard for You Know Who's actual cause. Malfoy himself defended himself, of course, by claiming that he was acting under the power of the Imperius Curse._

 _His defense seemed convincing to most of the members of the Wizengamot at the time, since it gained him a full pardon and became the beginning of an eventful friendship with Cornelius Fudge, later the Minister of Magic. It was under Fudge's patronage that Malfoy was able to conduct some of the more questionable of his foreign business operations. As our investigators have managed to establish, Minister Fudge will be present at Lucius Malfoy's trial today._

 _It is impossible to say whether Minister Fudge's testimony will be favourable to Mr. Malfoy's case, or whether the ex-Minister will condemn him. Among those who will certainly represent the prosecution's case today is Arthur Weasley, head of the Ministry Office for the Detection and Confiscation of Counterfeit Defensive Spells and Protective Objects during the term of Minister Rufus Scrimgeour, rumoured to be promoted to a chief diplomatic position in the Muggle Liaisons Office under current Minister Kingsley Shacklebolt, who, on grounds of impartiality, has ceded his position as Supreme Judge of the Wizengamot to Deputy Supreme Judge Wanda Periwinkle. Although Mr. Weasley has refused to issue an official statement, close sources confirm a long-standing conflict between Mr. Weasley and Mr. Malfoy._

 _During the trials of 1981-82 Mr. Weasley was among those who disputed Mr. Malfoy's claims of being under the Imperius Curse. Mr. Weasley and his family allegedly witnessed Mr. Malfoy in numerous incriminating circumstances over the years, including, but not limited to, possession and distribution of Dark objects, intimidation and acts of terror._

 _We have been unable to establish whether Mr. Weasley is planning on pressing further charges against Mr. Malfoy. It is certain, however, that he will be a key witness during the trial, as will his son, Ronald Weasley, one of the most influential figures of wartime resistance against You-Know-Who, and a close friend of Harry Potter's._

 _Lucius Malfoy's trial before the Wizengamot commences at 10 o'clock this morning._

* * *

By the time Ginny had finished reading the article, she was positively fuming. Her head fell lifelessly on top of the newspaper and her shoulders slumped as she released a tension she didn't know she was holding, until she realised her thumbs were becoming numb from clenching her fists tightly. Eventually, she hoisted herself up and leaned on an elbow, gazing into nothingness until her sight lowered again to the open article.

Her stare met Lucius Malfoy's.

The page featured Malfoy's Azkaban mugshot from several years earlier. Ginny's jaw clenched as she examined him. Lucius was staring defiantly at the camera, barely blinking; his head tilted to the side and his chin lifted up slightly, giving his expression an air of derision. He looked nothing like the elegant, composed man Ginny remembered meeting in the Diagon Alley bookshop when she was eleven; the man whose eyes were surveying her so intently was dishevelled, his long fair hair in disarray, his face unshaven and his eyes bloodshot, and he was wearing little more than a rag. He looked ready to punch a wall and shout obscenities at her just for being in the wrong place at the wrong time, like a Ginny remembered that the few times she saw him in person his face always appeared very stern and controlled, and she thought that perhaps, this was the look he was desperately trying not to show – the face of the violent, hateful man he really was on the inside.

She was glad he was dead.

Yes, despite herself, she was satisfied that the world had got rid of the pest Lucius Malfoy had been. It was a strange sort of satisfaction; almost unnatural for her, because Ginny made an effort not to laugh at someone else's misfortune. But she was unable to pity Lucius Malfoy. She'd always despised him, and with good reason; and it was a relief to know that he was no longer around.

As she lay her head on her folded arms again, letting her eyelids flutter and fall heavily over her eyes, her mind drifted back to her first encounter with Lucius Malfoy, when she met him and the small and scrawny twelve-year-old Draco in Flourish and Blotts. She remembered Malfoy père towering over her, and how his nostrils flared and his icy blue eyes narrowed when he addressed her father. She also remembered his robes, how his brocade cloak billowed when he turned, and how she thought what Lucius Malfoy was wearing was the most beautiful piece of clothing she had ever seen in her life. His shoes alone were probably worth more than her entire house.

Of course, this beautiful man also brought about her life's greatest nightmare. Not only that; he almost killed her. It had been so easy for him, hadn't it; dropping that bloody diary into her bag, making it seem accidental. Back then he was still widely respected, and he would easily have shrugged off any accusations.

He got what he deserved, dangling from a tree like Judas. She didn't pity him.

* * *

The corridor was dark and gloomy, and Ginny had the impression that its walls were covered with something sticky. The air was heavy and damp, and an unpleasant smell permeated it, although Ginny wasn't entirely sure what it was.

Despite the darkness, it wasn't difficult for Ginny to orientate herself; there was a faint glow at the end of the corridor, as if someone was guiding their way down it with their wand, and Ginny followed it. When she took the turn, the light disappeared for a moment, before appearing again at some distance.

Soon Ginny realised she was trapped in an endless maze of darkness. Her breathing became heavy as she started running, the ceiling coming down on her, ready to trap her forever.

* * *

Ginny awoke with a start. It was barely six a.m. and the castle was steeped in a darkness as deep as the one that surrounded her in her dream.

When she rose she felt a sudden pang of cold as her wet hair and shirt stuck to her sweaty back. Fabulous, Ginny thought, this is just fabulous. What a great start to the day.

Six had been her usual wake-up time back when things were normal at Hogwarts (had they ever been so?). She would wake up, fling her Quidditch robes on top of her body, lace up her boots and off she went, running down the stairs and then across the castle, tying up her hair in an improvised ponytail and securing her Quidditch gloves around her small fists. During the most part of the year it was still dark outside when their Quidditch practice began, but the torches around the pitch provided just enough light for the Gryffindor team to enjoy a brisk jog around the pitch and practice some moves up in the air. Gryffindor, and occasionally Hufflepuff, was the only house that had an established routine of morning practices; and although Ginny would never admit it, she loved them. She enjoyed the structure they provided to her week, and she liked showering straight after a practice as well, feeling fresh and energetic when everyone else was yawning and rubbing their eyes.

Now, of course, with the pitch still undergoing repairs, there was no practice for her to look forward to; and on top of that, Ginny doubted that there were enough decent players left at Hogwarts to form one Quidditch team, let alone dream of a Quidditch House Cup. But she still got up, albeit with slightly less enthusiasm, got dressed and, careful not to wake the other girls up, slipped out of the room and headed downstairs.

She hoped for Charlie to be waiting for her – if not inside the tower, then just outside – but he was nowhere to be found. Scowling, Ginny made her way downstairs, and then through the door that she knew would lead her to the path leading towards Hagrid's hut.

It was a brisk January morning. There was little snow, barely any, but the thick layer of frost on Hagrid's windows and the milky fog enshrouding the castle were solid proof of winter.

"Ginny!" she heard. It was Charlie's voice, without a doubt, and the cough that followed must have been his as well. "There you are. I knew you'd come. Did you have a good night?"

Ginny spotted her brother easily; in the warm light of the lantern attached to Hagrid's hut his bright red Weasley jumper visible underneath his working robes stood out among the dark green of the trees and the ochre yellow of the frosty grass.

"It was nightmarish," Ginny scowled. Literally, she added under her breath, shuffling towards him. "How about yours?"

"Not too bad," said Charlie. He was busy filling five buckets, distributed more or less evenly in front of himself, with a nondescript type of grain which he was shovelling out of a sack.

"What is this?" Ginny asked.

"Fodder for our new pets," Charlie replied. "Mainly malt and corn. We've got some silage in the box behind me, and meat for the thestrals and hippogriffs. Hagrid will be back in a minute, he's warming up some milk for the baby hippogriff; for some reason the mother has rejected it, we're suspecting it might be ill."

"We have a baby hippogriff at Hogwarts?" Ginny asked, raising her eyebrows in disbelief.

"Yeah. Durmstrang breed them, and they sent us a pair as a gift about a month ago, with a third one well under way."

"Do you think they may have been injured during their journey to Hogwarts? Maybe that's why the baby is ill?"

"My suspicion is it's the other way around, actually. Durmstrang were aware the foal was going to be defective, and so they decided to get rid of it."

Charlie got up and rubbed his knees.

"Come with me," he said. "We'll feed the unicorns first. Grab a bucket, no, wait, actually – I'll take the buckets, you take the tray."

With some effort, Ginny lifted it up and followed Charlie into the forest. The snow and the dry brushwood creaked underneath her feet. Ginny almost didn't notice when the faint light of the lantern disappeared from sight and they were surrounded by darkness. She followed Charlie closely, eyes locked on the light emanating from his wand.

"Not long now," her brother assured her.

The trees surrounding them soon seemed to thin out a little bit and they reached a clearing. Here Charlie stopped, leaving the heavy buckets he'd been carrying on the ground, and Ginny did the same with the wooden tray she'd been carrying. She was surprised at how tired she'd grown and how quickly it had happened. Her arms were sore and felt strangely light after she dropped the tray on the ground.

"What now?" she asked.

"We'll just leave the feed here," said Charlie, "and wait for them to find it during the day. Unicorns are a little wary of strangers, as you may remember, and they don't know me very well yet. I wouldn't expect them to come greet us."

Charlie raised his wand and pointed the lights towards a heavy stone bloc several yards ahead of them.

"This is the manger, as you can see," he said, "where we're going to leave the grain, the silage and the hay. Grab a bucket."

Ginny did as she was told and follow Charlie to the trough, where they emptied the contents of the buckets and the box and filled one of the compartments with fresh water.

"Have you ever worked with unicorns before?" Ginny asked.

"Yeah, a couple of times, before I moved to Romania to study dragons."

"Is it true they will only approach virgins?" Ginny asked in a bad attempt at a casual voice.

Charlie frowned.

"No, it's a myth," he said slowly. "But they are not the most trusting of creatures. They get along with children very well, especially girls, but anyone can work with them, provided they are gentle and give the unicorn plenty of time to familiarise itself with them. In Georgia, when I worked at that mountain reserve, it took me two weeks to make friends with one. Although I was told that particular unicorn was a unique case."

"How so?"

"Unicorns typically form very strong bonds within their immediate family," said Charlie. "Unlike many related Muggle animals, unicorns spend years searching for a reproductive partner and do not leave them until death. A unicorn's pregnancy is long and can be very difficult, and the calf develops slowly, rarely leaving its parents until it reaches full sexual maturity."

When he didn't pick up on that thought, Ginny prodded:

"And?"

"Well, this particular unicorn, Badri, was rejected by his family shortly after it was born. You need to understand that statistically such cases are extremely rare. Only a handful have been decently described and not many more were reported in various parts of Eurasia. Without the protection of its mother and father, the calf is practically unable to survive. We were lucky that it had happened within our reserve."

Ginny turned her gaze away from her brother's half-lit face and into the woods, staring intently at the darkness that surrounded them, tracing the outlines of the pines and birches that guarded the wilderness of the Forbidden Forest.

She had never seen a unicorn before, and for a brief moment she thought that a unicorn family might emerge from the dark any minute, and greet them with a friendly huff, and let her stroke their soft manes, and bask in the soft silvery glow of their bodies.

But of course, none appeared; it was be silly to suppose they would, given what Charlie had just said.

"So what happened? Why did it take him so long to trust you?" she asked, her mind back on the story.

Charlie gave her a look, as if the answer to her question was obvious.

"When his parents abandoned him, Badri missed a key developmental period. He never formed a real bond with another unicorn, he didn't know trust or love. Despite his exhaustion, he was very hostile when we first found him, and for a long time after that, too, he wouldn't let anyone approach him, let alone touch him. This meant that we weren't able to examine him properly, apart from the few times that we stunned him. We decided it was best if only one person worked with him, someone he could recognise and attach to."

"Did they choose you?"

"Yeah, it was me. Like I said before, it took me about two weeks before he allowed me to come closer to him, three weeks before I could touch him."

"What happened to him?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean – what's the end of his story?"

"I don't really know," Charlie shrugged. "I cared for him for a couple of months during my stay at the shelter, fed him, introduced the medics to him, stuff like that. We let him go later. It was a research centre and a sanctuary for old and injured animals, not a zoo."

Ginny nodded, eyes fixed on the mysterious darkness surrounding them.

"Let's get going," said Charlie. "We've still got to feed the hippogriffs. Hagrid should be ready any minute."

As they were leaving the clearing, Ginny said:

"Look, um, Charlie, I have another question."

When he didn't reply, she added hastily:

"It's something that's been vexing me since our first day back at Hogwarts. I've been meaning to ask you since I saw you at the table; I was going to do it the other night, but I forgot."

"Yeah? What is it, Gin?"

They were now deep in the forest, bushes smacking their legs and thorns constantly piercing their clothes and skin.

"Why is Draco Malfoy here?"

Charlie stopped, and Ginny thought for a second that he was going to turn around to face her, but he didn't; he simply readjusted his grip on the buckets he was holding in his hand and resumed walking.

"Why d'you ask?"

"Well… doesn't it strike you as a little bit odd?"

"No," Charlie said. His voice was different now, and sounded as if it was coming from afar. His tone was measured, as if he was taking the time to choose his words carefully; Ginny thought that perhaps he knew something he wasn't supposed to tell her.

"Why? He was tried in the summer—"

"And found innocent," said Charlie angrily. "What are you getting at, Ginny? If he's done something to you, you should officially report it to me as your head of house and to McGon—to professor McGonagall. I know you dislike him because of what he did to all of us. I'm not particularly fond of him either. But he has the right to finish his schooling, as do you."

"But Charlie, he was a Death Eater, wasn't he?"

"He was a minor at the time, and he was acting under coercion."

"Coercion, my arse! I was there when he bragged about it in front of all Slytherins back in my fifth year. I saw how the Carrows treated him, and I know for a fact he was a favourite of Snape's, too. Why the fuck is he and all the other Slytherins allowed back at school? He doesn't belong here, he belongs in Azkaban!"

"Like I said, he was found innocent. Maybe you should ask professor McGonagall about it."

"There's a reason I'm asking you. I asked you because I thought you wouldn't hide anything from me. I can see you are."

"Let it go, Ginny, there's nothing to hide. Like I said: has he done anything to you? Has he assaulted you?"

"He kept Luna in his cellar! He put her in a cage like a dog!"

"He didn't. His father did, Ginny."

"He didn't exactly protest, did he?"

"He was too afraid of his father," said Charlie forcefully, "and his father was too afraid of Voldemort."

"Did you know that he and Luna have to sit at one table in Potions now? Huh? She was kept prisoner in his own house, and now she's supposed to be all chummy with him?"

"Luna exonerated Draco in court, Ginny. Without her testimony he would have gone to Azkaban for at least five years, for sure. I remember a letter from Ron that said he cried in her arms after he was cleared of all charges. So I really don't think he minds spending two hours a week at one desk with her, you know."

Ginny was thankful that the darkness concealed her shocked expression.

"What about her though? What if she minds?"

"Ginny, have you spoken to her about it at all?"

"I have."

"And what did she say?"

Ginny remembered quite distinctly that Luna said she didn't mind.

"But—"

"I really don't think it's our place to try and influence any of them, Ginny. I get that you're angry, but him being here and him interacting with Luna is not something that's up to either of us. Just try and avoid him."

Try and avoid him! That was rich, coming from someone who never had to deal with a Malfoy – especially this particular one. What did Charlie know? He seemed to think that Draco Malfoy was some troubled little boy who just had to be shown the right path. How could he ignore the years of cruel taunting Ginny, Ron and Harry had to suffer? And Hermione – how could he ignore how Draco Malfoy had treated Hermione? Was he unaware of Lucius Malfoy's disdain for their father? Didn't he know that Lucius Malfoy tried to fucking kill her when she was only fucking twelve?

By the time they stepped out of the Forbidden Forest, Ginny had got herself all worked up again. Absorbed in her thoughts, she didn't even notice Hagrid, until his voice bellowed from behind her:

"What's the matter, kids? No use in sulkin', I tell yeh!"

She spun around, ready to retort something cheeky, but changed her mind when she saw him. Merlin, after a week in this ungrateful place, seeing Hagrid from up close was a relief. He hadn't changed one bit. Ginny might have never got on with him as well as Harry and Ron did, and after she and Harry had started going out she couldn't shake off the impression that Hagrid treated her with a sort of suspicion. But the familiarity of Hagrid's bellowing voice was comforting, so she smiled despite herself, and the half-giant smiled back.

"Wanna say hello to Fang?"

"Of course I want to say hello to Fang," said Ginny, setting the empty tray on the ground. Hagrid whistled, and Fang trotted eagerly out of the hut, his dripping tongue hanging out of his mouth.

Hagrid had now turned away and was busy unloading a chilled load of meat into the buckets Charlie had carried back from the Forest.

"Ginny," Charlie called in her direction, "would you mind taking the warm milk for the youngest one with you? There's a cauldron over the fireplace; you could carry it over to the Hippogriffs. Fang can lead the way."

"No," said Hagrid, "that cauldron's too heavy for her. You two take the buckets, I'll take care of the milk."

"I'll go with you, Hagrid," said Ginny, following him over to the hut, and an alarmed Charlie followed suit.

While Hagrid was busy lessening the fire, Ginny said casually:

"You know, Hagrid, I've been wondering…"

"What about?"

"D'you not find it odd that Draco Malfoy was allowed back to school?"

"I never liked that little sod, I tell yeh," said Hagrid, lifting the cauldron off the hook with a grunt. "But I couldn' get him outta here if I wanted to. He's not allowed out of the castle, yeh know. McGonagall—"

"Hagrid," said Charlie sharply, "we're not supposed to tell the students any of this."

Hagrid's eyes widened.

"Oh bugger, I've got a bit mouth, haven' I?" he moaned.

As Charlie shook his head in disappointment, Ginny thought hard to process the newly acquired information. Not allowed out of the castle? Was he being monitored or something? That would make sense, given that he was in home arrest before his trial –

Right, of course! How daft of her not to have thought about this before!

"Is Hogwarts his prison? Is this his sentence from the Wizengamot? Is that why Pansy Parkinson said she couldn't leave Hogwarts?"

"Ginny, honestly, you shouldn't concern yourself with this."

"How am I not supposed to concern myself? Luna's in danger—"

"Jus' tell her, won't you, Charlie? What's the harm in her knowin'?" said Hagrid as they stepped out of the hut and followed Charlie down the hill.

Charlie sighed.

"Yes," he said. "Draco, Pansy and Theodore Nott are here as part of their sentence. They were tried alongside their parents last summer. Their families were members of Voldemort's ranks, and they all would've gone to Azkaban, especially Malfoy, who was actually branded Death Eater. The prosecution proposed five years of Azkaban for him, and two years for the other two. However, they were vouched for by a number of witnesses, and the judges proposed a deal instead. A full year at Hogwarts. Another year in a Ministry-approved workplace, closely monitored by the Ministry. They agreed. There you go. That's the big, big secret. Happy?"

"Quite," said Ginny.

* * *

"That sounds incredibly exciting," Ginny told Neville as they were walking down the stairs to the Gryffindor common room. "Will you stay at Hogwarts after your N.E. then? To complete your training?"

"Well, no, I don't think so," said Neville, scratching his head. "Professor Sprout said she could only teach me so much. I'll be assisting her during her open hours in the afternoons, I might do some trial classes with the younger years, I might do a little bit of research by the lake later on in the year, if I'm lucky – now it's a bit too cold and I'm limited to the greenhouses. Professor Sprouts said she could pull some strings, if I do well enough in my N.E. of course, and find me a placement abroad for the summer, or maybe for a little bit longer…"

"Like Charlie's placement in Georgia," said Ginny, pushing the Fat Lady's portrait to the side.

"Yeah, something like that."

"Where do you think you will go?"

"I don't know… I'd love to go to Brazil, but I don't know any Portuguese, and I'm afraid that's essential. But there are many exciting Herbology projects going on in Northern America at the moment. I could try my luck there."

"Can you imagine? Professor Neville Longbottom, Herbology teacher."

"It would be pretty amazing. Professor Sprout said I would have a chance."

"Of course you would! You will, when she retires. You're already an expert. I bet you'd be a great teacher."

They entered the Great Hall, all smiles and laughs. It was still quite early, but neither of them had had much to do after their morning duties outside, so when they returned to the castle, rubbing their flushed cheeks for warmth, Ginny ran to the bathroom for a quick shower and joined Neville for breakfast.

The Hall was alight with bright January sun coming in through the vast windows. Charlie and Professor Sprout were already at the High Table, as was Hagrid and Professor McGonagall – indeed, if any of the staff were early risers keen to have their eggs on toast at eight o'clock in the morning, Professor McGonagall was one of them. The Hufflepuff table seemed quite busy; Susan Bones was there, sharing her meal with a large group of second and third years, with two bony first years at each of her sides. Susan shot Ginny and Neville a bright smile as they were entering. Ginny smiled back. Susan looked like a caring mother hen surrounded by her chicks. If there was one thing Ginny liked about the new Hogwarts, it was that people cared little about year groups and houses. Brawny fifth-year Gryffindors could be seen playing cards and checkers with third-year Ravenclaws. First-year Slytherins, instead of keeping to themselves, were encouraged to mix in with the other houses, and over the course of the week Ginny had seen them lurking around the Gryffindor Common Room at least one or two times. She always smiled at them at least, if they were busy, and if they looked lost, she offered them hot chocolate or pointed them at the Gryffindor collection of board games. This budding sense of community would surely have pleased Albus Dumbledore. It wasn't enough to make Hogwarts feel like home again, but it was a start.

Ginny and Neville slid over the benches at either side of the Gryffindor table, next to Holly and Selena, who were sleepily chewing their oatmeal.

"Let's save a space for Luna," Ginny reminded Neville. "She'll probably be here soon."

Luna had been taking her meals with them quite regularly. She wasn't that friendly with the Ravenclaw bunch from her year, at least not with the girls, and although she seemed to get along with them a lot better this year, she obviously preferred the company of Ginny and Neville.

"Hungry?" Neville asked. "I'm starving."

"Yeah, me too," said Ginny.

The table was heavy with mouth-watering food – stacks of fluffy pancakes, fresh toast and soft butter, bacon and sausages, steamy baked beans, pots of warm oatmeal and plates full of sliced fresh fruit. Ginny helped herself to the pancakes and squeezed some lemon juice over them as Neville poured tea into their mugs.

"Did Charlie tell you anything about a prefects meeting or something? I was a little surprised McGonagall and Flitwick didn't bring it up during the opening ceremony last week, or anytime this week, actually," said Neville.

"No, he didn't say anything," Ginny said, dabbing her pancakes absent-mindedly. She knew she should stop ignoring the insistent rumbling of her belly and just start eating; but somehow, she was more concerned with making sure Luna made it to breakfast. There had been no cause for concern, and Ginny knew that her friend liked sleeping in. She usually appeared in the Great Hall later than the two of them. But—

"Hey," Neville said, and she felt the tip of his shoe kick the front of her calf under the table. "Is everything alright?"

"Yeah," said Ginny. She put a piece of pancake in her mouth and suddenly became very interested in chewing. Neville tilted his head to the side. His face made it pretty clear that he knew she was avoiding him.

"What is it? Did you two have a fight?" Neville asked.

"No, of course not," Ginny mumbled.

"Is it something that happened this morning?"

"No, nothing happened."

"Well then what is it? You've been in the worst mood lately. One moment you're all smiles, the next moment you sulk and act.. weird. What's going on?"

Ginny rolled her eyes.

"That's not helpful, Ginny."

Ginny nodded in the direction of the Slytherin table. Neville turned his head, then turned it back around, his brows knitted in a confused frown.

Ginny sighed.

"Didn't you notice?"

"Didn't I notice what?"

"She's been spending so much time with them!"

"Who?"

"Luna! With Draco Malfoy and his lot!"

Realizing that she'd said it a lot louder than she'd intended to, Ginny shot a look to the side, but Holly and Selena didn't seem to have heard anything.

"Oh, right," said Neville quietly. He turned his attention to his plate, and Ginny felt that she should do, too; but she wasn't a quitter, so she probed on:

"Doesn't that worry you? Why haven't you spoken to her about it, maybe you would've talked some sense into her…"

"Ginny, this isn't the best time or place to talk about this," said Neville. "Let's just wait for her, have breakfast, and then we can resume this discussion in my dorm.

"Fine," Ginny grunted. Her tea was now cold and the pancakes had gone from soft to cakey and had become rather unappetising. Ginny forced them down her throat, bit by bit, glancing at the entrance to the Hall every now and again.

"But, may I just say," Neville added, attempting a casual tone, "I think you're being oversensitive. It'd do you good if you found a lighter topic to worry about."

"I don't spend time worrying about lighter topics, that's not what light topics are, Neville," said Ginny.

"You know what I mean. Something like Quidditch. Something that'll take your mind off of things you've no power over."

"Quidditch is off this year, don't you remember? We've got no power over that."

There she was. The golden waves that surrounded her round face bounced off her shoulders every time she took a step. A skip, rather; she skipped her way down the hall, gripping the sides of her Ravenclaw robe, and settled down on a bench. At the Slytherin table, next to the scrawny head of none other than Draco Malfoy.

Ginny's appetite was suddenly gone, and the piece of pancake she'd been about to put in her mouth was now an unattractive chunk of yuck.

Across the hall, Ginny's eyes, squinting in anger, could easily make out Luna's sunny blonde and Malfoy's paler one. There were some younger Slytherins to Luna's left and to Malfoy's right; at a considerable distance, in isolation, there sat Daphne Greengrass, frowning in confusion at the odd pair.

"Ginny…" Neville started, after one quick look told him all he needed to know."

"That's it. I'm leaving. This is too much."

"Don't be ridiculous," Neville said in a hushed tone, gripping her arm tightly and pulling it down just as Ginny was getting up.

She sat back down reluctantly.

"Alright, I don't want to make a scene," she said. "But I want to make it very clear that I am not pleased."

"It is very clear, Ginny."

If Luna turned around towards the Gryffindor table, she would meet Ginny's best menacing stare.

"Eat up so we can leave together. I'm not hungry."


	5. Chapter 5

_Hello to all and thank you for stopping by! This chapter is somewhat shorter than the previous ones but I hope you enjoy it anyway. I am very grateful for your support and I always love hearing back from you, so do let me know how you feel about this story and stick around for the next instalments!_

 _A special thank you goes to Nova.8 - I absolutely adored reading your reviews, thank you so much!_

 _Fair warning that I didn't run this chapter through a spell checker so if you notice a mistake or just a silly typo, please let me know!_

 _(PS In reply to a Guest review: yes, this is a D/G story and they will get plenty of quality time. I realise the build-up is quite slow, but have a little faith...)_

* * *

 **5.**

When I am laid in earth, may my wrongs create no trouble in thy breast;  
Remember me, remember me, but ah! forget my fate.  
Remember me, but ah! forget my fate.

("Dido's lament" from _Dido and Aeneas_ by Henry Purcell)

* * *

 _THE NITTY GRITTY OF MINISTRY V. MALFOY: JUDGES ASTOUNDED AS LUCIUS MALFOY ADMITS DEATH EATHER ACTIVITIES & REVEALS INCRIMINATING DETAILS_

 _6th July 1998, London_

 _Gonzalo Plum reports from London as Lucius Malfoy stands before the Wizengamot in what might be the most significant court trial of the century_

 _Last Saturday marked the opening of Ministry of Magic v. Malfoy, or the infamous Malfoy Case, before the Wizengamot. The heaviest charges against Lucius Malfoy, 43, include: high treason, which, according to prosecutor A. S. Holmes, is synonymous with Mr. Malfoy's affiliation with the Death Eaters; bribery, attested by a number of witnesses close to former Minister of Magic Cornelius Fudge; and the kidnapping and detention of a number of magical and non-magical citizens. Two of them will be testifying anonymously before the Minister of Magic, and the third known victim, Mr. G. Ollivander, 90, has issued a written statement to the Wizengamot, including the details of his capture and detention which were directly organized by Mr. Malfoy._

 _In addition, the prosecution is said to have evidence linking Mr. Malfoy a number of terrorist acts committed by or otherwise affiliated with the Death Eaters. In light of the evidence gathered before Mr. Malfoy's preliminary hearing, the Wizengamot has placed court orders on a number of public and private persons that seem to be involved with Mr. Malfoy's criminal activity, including Mr. Fudge and other members of former Ministry personnel previously unknown to have had any ties with You-Know-Who._

 _The prosecution has gathered a number of witnesses who are to appear before the Wizengamot over the course of the week. Their statements will help determine the extent to which Lucius Malfoy was involved in furthering You-Know-Who's cause and his position among his followers, as well as that of his family, wife Narcissa, 41, and son Draco, 18. Harry Potter, 18, has already confirmed his presence before the Wizengamot today, as have his associates and fellow leaders of the wartime resistance movement, Ronald Weasley, 18, and Hermione Granger, 19. Arthur Weasley, 48, is rumoured to have a private hearing scheduled this Wednesday._

 _A number of Draco Malfoy's former schoolmates are also to appear before the court in order to determine the details of kidnapping of A.D. and N.S., aged 16 at the time of their disappearance,who are said to have spent a number of months in the Malfoy Manor. A trusted source informs us that neither A.D. nor N.S. have yet confirmed their participation in the trial, although their close association with Harry Potter, whose circle has been known to be extremely active in their denouncing of Death Eather related activity, could suggest that they will eventually agree to a hearing._

 _Lucius Malfoy surprised the Wizengamot at the very onset of the trial when, having had his charges read out to him by Judge Belinda Clearwater, he plead guilty to every single one of them. He described in detail his relationship with Cornelius Fudge and divulged the history of his support for You-Know-Who, confirming the assumptions of many, including Arthur Weasley. Mr. Malfoy described his early inclinations towards Dark Magic as a "shameful chapter in his past" which continuously cast a shadow over his subsequent life._

 _When inquired about the kidnapping, he stated his involvement was very limited and that by that time he in no way held a strategic position within the movement. Asked about his motives for retaining hostages at his house by prosecutor Andrew S. Holmes, Mr. Malfoy replied, "I saw no other way of recuperating my position and thus ensuring the safety of my family". "Did you come to feel remorse for how this attempt affected the lives of others?" said prosecutor Holmes, alluding to the number of magical and non-magical folk detained at Malfoy Manor. Mr. Malfoy's answer to this question was a simple "no"._

 _Mr. Malfoy denied torturing Muggles and wizards whilst they were being kept at his house and blamed Bellatrix Lestrange for the deaths of three unidentified victims as well as for the mistreatment of Mr. Derrick Ollivander, A.D., N.S. and other hostages. The only witnesses able to attest the verity of this statement are Narcissa Malfoy, Garrick Ollivander, who has refused to make a statement, A.D. and N.S.. Prosecutor Holmes has assured us that whilst efforts will be made to discover the truth on Mr. Malfoy's involvement in the matter, the Wizengamot has not approved the use of Veritaserum in the hearings._

 _The prosecution also hopes to uncover details of Draco Malfoy's involvement in the above. So far, young Draco's charges stem from him aiding his father in his criminal activity at the Manor and his affiliation with the Death Eaters. Due to Draco Malfoy being a minor for the most part of the period in question, it is unknown whether he can legally serve a sentence in Azkaban._

* * *

In the sheltered darkness of her four-poster bed, Ginny lay still on her back, eyes wide open because eventually she'd found it tiring to focus on keeping them shut. Her legs felt heavy. She had been up since early, and her whole body ached, but somehow sleep just wouldn't come.

She had spent most of the day on her own. Neville avoided her all day, either though both of them were free all afternoon. His excuse was that Professor Sprout expected him at the greenhouses; but even if that were true, and Ginny suspected it was (Neville was not a particularly good liar), it was only part of why he couldn't see her. It was an excuse. Ginny knew all he wanted was avoid the sensitive subject of Luna. Their new taboo. Ginny spent the afternoon in bed and in the Gryffindor common room, revising Charms and playing Exploding Snap with Luke Bellamy. She felt lifeless. Normally, she would have wanted to be around people, to go outside; but that breakfast incident had soured her mood.

In the evening, she closed the curtains around her bed and fished her _Daily Prophets_ from underneath the mattress. She'd hid them well, in case a house elf found them and left them out in the open. Not that it was a crime to read the _Daily Prophet_ , of course not; but she would prefer for her roommates not to know. She liked Holly and Selena enough and she was sure they wouldn't ask unnecessary questions if they found them. But it was preferable to keep her research into the Malfoy case private. There was no need to share her suspicions with anyone just yet, and if she found something on Malfoy, she would run to McGonagall first before spilling the beans with her Gryffindor mates.

The generous stack of _Daily Prophets_ she had spent the previous three or four hours devouring now lay at her feet underneath her duvet. She had meticulously gone through two weeks' worth of papers: editorials, opinion pieces, interviews, court reports, all on Lucius Malfoy, from the opening of the trial until his conviction. Fifteen years in Azkaban. It didn't seem much given the notoriety of his crimes: high treason, murder, attempted murder, bribery, misprision of treason, and a few others in which he had been an accessory, which included aggravated kidnapping, battery and rape. It was shockingly little, actually, fifteen years, especially when compared to the high sentences commonly given in trials after the First Wizarding Sentences, and those received by other Death Eaters that had survived.

According to the _Prophet_ , and principally to its tireless reporter Gonzalo Plum, there were numerous extenuating circumstances that worked in Malfoy's favour. Most importantly, it was that he plead guilty. He confessed his crimes emotionlessly and without pretense, only admitting that he regretted them insofar as they affected his family. His testimony shed light on details previously unknown to the Wizengamot lawyers and strengthened the case against a number of other Death Eaters. Secondly, what worked in Malfoy's favour was that he ostensibly renounced his loyalty to Voldemort shortly before his fall, during the Battle of Hogwarts, as was attested by a number of witnesses. Judge Periwinkle, apparently, believed that to be sufficient.

It certainly wasn't meaningless that Malfoy Manor was to become Ministry property by the end of the calendar year, and that a mindblowing sum was to be extracted from their bottomless Gringotts fund as war reparations. Gonzalo Plum mentioned it in passing at the end of one of his exhaustive reports. Ginny thought bitterly that this was probably the most important factor in the mitigation of Malfoy's sentence. She wondered whether Hogwarts would have been opened at all without the help of Lucius Malfoy's galleons. She thought that, perhaps, the thousands - almost a full million - paid to her parents and older siblings also came from the Malfoys' vault.

Would it disgust her if the Malfoy fortune had paid for the renovation of the Burrow?

Perhaps not. But she wasn't keen to know if this was true.

As she listened to the wind whistle and howl outside the stained-glass windows of her dorm, Ginny re-examined what she had learnt about the Malfoy case that evening. She thought, in particular, about what the Prophet said about the kidnapping. Gonzalo reported that Malfoy was accused of organising the abduction of and holding captive three people: Mr. Ollivander and the two mistery victims, A.D. and N.S. Ginny knew for a fact that there had in fact been _four_ victims: Mr. Ollivanter, Luna, Dean and the goblin Griphook; this meant that either the Wizengamot were reluctant to consider Griphook, which was plausible but not very likely, or their previous knowledge of the incident was limited. This was the first hole in the _Prophet's_ account of the matter, and the first sign that something was off.

A.D. and N.S., undoubtedly, stood for Dean and Luna. Gonzalo claimed they were to have a private hearing with judge Periwinkle and a Ministry counsellor, and that the _Prophet_ had no way of acquiring a transcript of the hearing. Thus, Ginny reasoned, even if their testimony had any effect on the verdict, there was no way for her to know what it was unless she actually got her hands on a Ministry document - which was impossible.

The question debated before the Wizengamot was whether Lucius Malfoy was _directly_ culpable for the abduction of the three (four) captives or whether he was merely a conspirator. After the private hearings of A.D. and N.S. (Dean and Luna), the question was apparently extended to whether Draco Malfoy held any responsibility for their abduction and captivity.

The latter was left unresolved; Ginny would have to sneak into the library and take a look at a later batch of _Prophets_. She was dying to know. She could sense there was something wrong here. Luna's kidnapping was mentioned in the headine of the first article about Lucius Malfoy and was widely discussed during the first week of the trial. Malfoy got asked about it and dodged the question, first stating that _his involvement was very limited_ , and later that he _had had no knowledge of the Dark Lord's plans and could have done nothing to prevent them from happening_ , that he _had had absolutely no interaction with the captives and had never seen their faces_ , and that he _did his utmost to shelter his wife and child_ (his adult murderous son, Ginny thought) _from Bellatrix Lestrange's field of operations_.

Then the Prophet mentioned the scheduled hearing of A.D. and N.S. All subsequent articles failed to mention it, and the final report decided that Lucius Malfoy had been an unwitting accomplice.

It all seemed extremely suspicious and Ginny was determined to get to the bottom of it. She didn't know how, but she would find out the truth.

Most importantly, she would do all she could to get Luna away from Draco Malfoy.

She didn't know what it was that attracted her to him. She would find that out too, and disspell the myth. She knew he was toxic and she was going to prove that to Luna.

She knew that her concern for her friend's well-being should override her anger, but still she couldn't help but be angry. How couldn't she? It felt like a stab in the back, Luna rejecting their years of friendship for Draco Malfoy, convicted criminal and overall prick, and his lot. Even if she wasn't actively rejecting it, it was as if she were - how could she feel Draco Malfoy's company was as good as Ginny's? It was insulting. She should have preferred Ginny over him, over anyone, anytime. They were best friends. Did that not mean anything anymore? She had chosen someone over her, she announced it to everyone, and that hurt.

Maybe, Ginny mused, maybe it had been a mistake to return to Hogwarts at all. Maybe she should have chosen a life in London, a new life, like Hermione, Ron and Harry. Nothing kept her here. Luna clearly didn't care for her enough; Neville was her friend, but he didn't side with her, and he was clearly fine without her. She could leave anytime, and she would do well. She would perhaps be missed, but they could do without her.

But, she reminded herself, that would be unfair. It would be cowardice. Even if Luna didn't realise it, she deserved a better friend, and Ginny would stay by her side no matter what. She wouldn't leave her alone, not with Luna vulnerable and helpless in the claws of slimy Slytherins. She deserved to be saved.

And Ginny would do her utmost to save her.


	6. Chapter 6

_Hi all! Thank you for visiting or re-visiting my story. Things are going to get more dramatic from now on. Chapter 7 is almost ready and should be posted next week. Enjoy!_

* * *

 **6.**

'Of course, now and then things linger. I once wore nothing but violets all through one season, as mourning for a romance that would not die. Ultimately, however, it did die. (...) Well,—would you believe it?—a week ago, at Lady Hampshire's, I found myself seated at dinner next the lady in question, and she insisted on going over the whole thing again, and digging up the past, and raking up the future. I had buried my romance in a bed of poppies. She dragged it out again, and assured me that I had spoiled her life. I am bound to state that she ate an enormous dinner, so I did not feel any anxiety. But what a lack of taste she showed! The one charm of the past is that it is the past. But women never know when the curtain has fallen. They always want a sixth act, and as soon as the interest of the play is entirely over they propose to continue it. If they were allowed to have their way, every comedy would have a tragic ending, and every tragedy would culminate in a farce.'

(Oscar Wilde, _The Picture of Dorian Gray_ )

* * *

 _VICTIM OR CULPRIT?_

 _29th July 1998, London_

 _DRACO MALFOY STANDS BEFORE THE WIZENGAMOT, FACES ACCUSATIONS FROM HARRY POTTER AND A PROPOSED TOTAL OF FIVE YEARS IN AZKABAN_

 _This Sunday marked the end of Lucius Malfoy's infamous trial before the Wizengamot. After the final 12 hours of deliberations, Mr. Malfoy, 43, was convicted to a 15 year sentence in Azkaban, dismissed with prejudice. The court have agreed to place Mr. Malfoy in home arrest in his Wiltshire residence until his son and wife are tried._

 _As we were printing Monday's issue of the Prophet, Draco Malfoy, 18 (pictured above), was being transported into the courtroom to hear his charges. We can confirm that the three main accusations against him are as follows: high treason (in the case of his father, his allegiance to You-Know-Who, attested by the Dark Mark, was enough for this charge to be successfully sustained); misprision of felony (referring to his involvement in the kidnapping of A.D. and his continued knowledge of the presence of captives at Malfoy Manor); and attempted murder._

 _This final charge came as somewhat of a surprise. Wizengamot spokespersons confirmed on Monday that sufficient evidence was gathered for such a charge to be made, and that it would come principally from the testimony of Mr. Harry Potter, 18. As of today, more details have been released._

 _For the past two days, reporters from both Britain and overseas have crowded the Ministry of Magic to witness the testimonies of war heroes Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley (both aged 18) as well as Hermione Granger, 19 (pictured below).The leaders of the wizarding resistance against You-Know-Who are following the trial against their former schoolmate and have all given surprising testimonies._

 _All three denied being aware that Mr. Malfoy was in any way involved in the kidnapping of A.D. as they witnessed, despite the defendant's own claims of having been so. They also revealed that they met Mr. Malfoy whilst in hiding, and he refused to reveal their identities to followers of the Dark Lord. Mr. Malfoy's statement contradicts this: "I do not recall seeing Potter since the end of our sixth year at Hogwarts"._

 _Importantly, however, Mr. Potter has testified to have witnessed Mr. Malfoy threatening to use the Killing Curse on another wizard. According to the prosecution, he has given a detailed enough testimony, supported by sources including Hogwarts staff, such as former Deputy Headmistress Minerva McGonagall and former Head of Slytherin Horace Slughorn. Mr. Malfoy is yet to be questioned on the matter. Mr. Malfoy was a minor when the alleged crime was committed, and the Wizengamot will take his age into account during the ruling._

 _Ms. Granger spoke to us exclusively on leaving the courtroom on Tuesday evening:_

 _"I doubt there are any redeeming qualities in [Draco] Malfoy, but one thing that comes to my mind when pondering upon this case is the overwhelming influence his father had over him while we were all at school. It would be unjust to assume [Draco] Malfoy is solely responsible for all the horrible deeds attributed to him today."_

 _We were also able to extract the following statement from Mr. R. Weasley: "[Draco] Malfoy has been a d*** to everyone from day one". Mr. Weasley admits, however, that this in itself is not inculpatory evidence._

 _Prosecutor Andrew Holmes had this to say about the case: "If we take Mr. Potter's testimony to be true, we know for a fact that Draco Malfoy at that particular point in time did not have it in him to kill another human being. The intent, however, is what counts, especially because it meant he had planned and allowed for someone else to finish the dirty work for him. Frankly, I think the heaviest charge against him right now is his inaction when faced with the kidnapping of his classmates. He was an adult then and will be tried as one. He was able to improve their condition and denounce the crimes, but chose not to. To the prosecution that is deplorable and deserves condemnation."_

* * *

 _DRACO MALFOY CLEARED OF ALL CHARGES_

 _7th August 1998, London_

 _WIZENGAMOT DECISION SHOCKS THE PUBLIC AND WIPES DRACO MALFOY'S NAME OFF THE CRIMINAL RECORD_

 _The second Malfoy case was concluded by the Wizengamot yesterday. In a staggering turn of events, Draco Malfoy was declared innocent. In what barrister Hildegard Macmillan, responsible for the ungrateful task of defending young Mr. Malfoy, has called "an unprecedented ruling that is likely to revolutionise our perception of justice", the seemingly unsurmountable charges against Mr. Malfoy were dropped or annulled, one by one._

 _The first charge deliberated upon was that of attempted murder. Despite Harry Potter's detailed testimony and Draco Malfoy's eventual confession, the Wizengamot decided that due to Mr. Malfoy's young age at the time the attempt did not qualify as a breaching of the current laws._

 _Next came Mr. Malfoy's role in the kidnapping of A.D. and his subsequent inaction regarding the captives held at his house. One of the three witnesses agreed to be heard privately before Judge Periwinkle with the defendant, the prosecutor and barrister Macmillan present in the room. The testimony of this witness, whose identity we were not able to determine, was later made known to the Wizengamot. An unofficial source has told us that the statement is in essence an expression of gratitude for Mr. Malfoy's kindness while overseeing the captives, and for his efforts to ensure their physical and mental well-being. Following the hearing, the Wizengamot decided declaring Mr. Malfoy guilty of misprision of felony would be an injustice and a direct contradiction to the wishes of those he supposedly had wronged._

 _Taking this into account, the Minister of Magic, representing the state, pleaded for Mr. Malfoy's treason charge to be dropped. Draco Malfoy's innocence was declared yesterday evening after a full 8 hours of deliberations._

 _Rumour has it this verdict is merely nominal, as large sums are to be extracted from Draco Malfoy's inheritance as donations to the ministry. However, the fact remains that unlike his father, Mr. Malfoy will not face a sentence in Azkaban, and from a legal perspective is now a free man._

* * *

 _ **Monday, 11th January 1999**_

Ginny and Luna arrived early. The Potions classroom was still closed, so they leaned on the nearest wall, waiting for Archambault and all the other students to arrive.

Luna bent over to put her books on the floor and began plaiting her hair. Ginny watched her with a smile, pleased with the physical proximity of her friend. She'd promised herself she wouldn't let anything or anyone sour their relationship, and they had spent the weekend together, chatting, giggling and drinking tea. Luna apparently had made it her personal challenge to try all the different types of tea stocked in the kitchens, so their usual aromatic English Breakfast (strong but not too bitter, with just a dash of milk, though Luna liked hers a lot milkier than Ginny) was now forgotten in favour of subtle jasmin, punchy rosehip and rich, bright-coloured oolong. Before they went to bed the previous night - Ginny simply took over one of the spares in the Ravenclaw dorm - they drank chamomile tea in their nightgown and played a round of cards. During her stay at Shell Cottage Luna had discovered in herself a great propensity for cards, card games in general but also, curiously, tarot. It didn't come as a surprise, although Ginny personally didn't think much of it; she considered tarot to be a particularly cheap form of divination, which in itself was detestable nonsense. Luna, however, treated it very seriously, and did a tarot reading for Ginny. Then they went to sleep, and they fell asleep quite quickly. They took their breakfast together in the Great Hall. All was perfect.

As the minutes flowed by and Luna's hair went from wild mane to neat Dutch plait, their classmates began lining up before the door. First came Theo Nott, after him the two Hufflepuffs, Susan Bones and Leticia Barros; then Luke Milligan and Sam Bellamy with Tony Goldstein in tow, his fellow Ravenclaw Connie Seeger sauntering in slowly. Finally, right as the heavy door opened and Professor Archambault's imposing figure invited them in, Parkinson and Malfoy appeared, too.

They all took their seats quietly. To Ginny's left, Pansy's lips were tight and her nostrils were flaring.

"Good morning students," came the distinctive voice of Professor Archambault. "Now that we've revised the more theoretical parts of our course, including use of ingredients and approaches to potion-making, we had better begin the practical part. We will begin with one of the first potions mentioned in your textbook, the Draught of Living Death. Most of you will already have prepared it, so there is no excuse for it to not be perfect. You will be working individually, but I expect you to monitor what your partner is doing, learn from them and correct their mistakes. I expect your performance to be consistent. If your partner makes a mistake and you do not notice it or do not know how to correct it, you will be marked down. There will be opportunities to practice similar potions from the first two chapters of your textbook in our extracurricular sessions, tonight as well as on Wednesday evening, so please do show up if you struggle or if you simply feel you would like more practice. Questions? No? You may start now."You have two hours."

Knives, weights, measuring flasks and cauldrons at the ready, Ginny, Pansy and the rest of the class began readying themselves for the task at hand.

Within the next twenty minutes it became obvious to Ginny that Parkinson wasn't doing well. She didn't necessarily do things wrong, she just did them way too slowly. Her infusion of Wormwood had to wait in the cauldron for much longer than necessary before the added the root of asphodel, and she had set the temperature just the notch too high. Ginny said nothing.

Finally, Pansy made an obvious mistake.

"No, Pansy, wait," said Ginny.

Parkinson turned her head abruptly and glared in silence.

"You're doing it wrong," said Ginny, and extended her hands towards Pansy's portion of the desk to take her knife from her hand. Pansy pulled her hands away and shielded them with a shoulder.

"No I'm not," said Pansy. "I'm doing exactly what I'm meant to do, look in your book: it says _cut the Sopophorous bean evenly..._ "

"Yeah, you call that even? Just look at these chunks at the end. And anyway, it's better if you crush them."

"Crush them? That's not what it says here, it says-"

"Harry told me you're supposed to crush them and not cut them, he did that in his sixth year and he did excellently, so-"

"Oh, Potter told you that, didn't he? Isn't that special. Now bugger off so I can carry on."

"No, Pansy, stop-" Ginny tried to reach Pansy's beans and was pushed away lightly. "I'm telling you, you're doing it wrong!"

"What do you care, Weasel?" Pansy snapped in annoyance.

"I don't want to get marked down!"

"Do I look like I give a fuck?"

"Let me- show you-"

Ginny reached over Pansy's arm once again and suddenly she felt Pansy's elbow contact sharply with her arm.

Ginny elbowed her back.

"Get your hands off me!" came Pansy's shrill yelp.

"If you just let me help you-"

"I was doing fine on my own!"

"No you weren't-"

This time, before Ginny had the time to react, both of Pansy's hands pushed her firmly, slamming her hipbone into the edge of the desk.

"Ouch!" Ginny squealed, forcing Pansy away.

"Get your hands off me, you absolute bitch!"

"ENOUGH!"

It was then that Ginny realized that the contents of her cauldron were trickling down her robe, that the whole class was watching them, and that there was a certain Potions professor towering above them with a furious look on her face.

There was silence.

"Ladies, this sort of behaviour is unacceptable," hissed Professor Archambault. "You are both in detention. Calm down at once or I will ask you to leave-"

"Fine," Ginny cut in. "I'm leaving,"

And she left.

* * *

She rushed up the stairs and down the wide archway. She then took another flight of stairs - dammit, not now! The staircase moved; she scurried past the bathroom and practically ran up the next flight of stairs that appeared, up, up until she reached Gryffindor tower. By that time there was already a sheen of sweat glinting on her forehead and neck, and her whole face was flushed with equal parts annoyance and effort.

"Beetlejuice," she almost shouted.

"Good day to you too," grunted the Fat Lady in aggravation.

Ginny burst into the common room and stopped in her tracks. She stood still for a while, waiting for her sharply drawn breaths to even out. Even for someone as physically fit as she was, running up and down the corridors of Hogwarts and practically springing up seven floors' worth of stairs was an effort. Once the prickling sensation was gone from her lungs, she directed herself towards the door that led to Charlie's quarters.

It was opposite the entrance to the staircase leading to the Gryffindor dorms. Ginny knew there was no one in the common room, and that in fact the entire tower was most probably empty, since everyone was in class, but even so, the threw a cautious look at the room behind her before extending her hand towards the door.

As she lay her fingers on the handle, she entertained the thought that what she was doing, and what she was about to do, was immensely stupid; that the best course of action would be to swallow her pride, return to the dungeons and apologise; that she would likely be punished, and that a heap of points would be deducted from Gryffindor. All of it flashed in her head for just a split second. She gripped the handle and pushed.

To her mild surprise, the door opened easily. She'd half expected at least a password, or a barrier of some kind. But no; she entered and for the first time in her life, she found herself in a teacher's private rooms.

As could be expected, they were bigger and more comfortable than any dorm or office she had ever been in. The furniture was made of sturdy, glossy wood, and the red and gold tapestry covering the walls shone in the light let in through the stained glass windows.

Ginny didn't dwell on her surroundings for too long once she located what she needed - the fireplace.

Without giving it too much of a second thought, she rummaged through the various boxes and bottles on the window sill and in the drawers. Eventually, armed with a handful of glinting Floo powder, she climbed into the fire place and, still crouching, shouted:

"Diagon Alley!"

There was a flash, and she was gone.

* * *

Ginny coughed and huffed while scrambling out of the fireplace and making her way outside. As soon as she stepped out in the street, she felt the cold of a typical brisk January morning penetrate her robes, sending a deep chill down her spine. She crossed her arms across her chest and began her walk.

It was early, but Diagon Alley, the lively heart of wizarding London, was very much a busy place. Wizards and witches hurried from shop to shop or stood in corners and doorframes smoking Muggle cigarettes outside, as was the fashion, sharing workplace gossip; bright winter robes with furry collars swept the thin layer of snow to the sides of the pavement; the buzz of voices, shouts, laughs, and music filled the air. Ginny almost didn't notice it when her lips stretched in a wide smile. Passers-by nodded and smiled at her occasionally, most probably recognising her as Harry Potter's girlfriend. Other stared in confusion or disbelief, possibly because she was still wearing her Hogwarts robe, now slightly dusty and glittering with snowflakes. She didn't care. The business, the haste, the sheer life that surrounded her was enough to make her happy.

Eventually, she spotted the glinting of the familiar neon W. Her pace quickened. She continued admiring the fancy robes, brand new books, magical pets, hats, snacks, shoes, broomsticks and other commodities in the storefront windows she passed, but she was much more eager now to reach her destination. Besides, she had no money other. She could probably ask Ron or George once she reached them and they wouldn't hesitate to spare a few galleons; the days when the Weasleys would count every single Knut they had in their hands and when their visits to Diagon Alley would break Ginny's heart were over, hopefully forever. If she wanted to, she could probably get that milkshake, that pair of shoes, that Quidditch magazine that was so popular amongst her peers. She realised, however, that she didn't want them, and she wasn't going to allow herself unnecessary spendings just because she could. They were nice to look at, but nothing was particularly desirable to Ginny at this very moment, not as much as it used to when she knew she couldn't have it.

Before she knew it, she reached Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes.

"George!" she called, entering the maze of glowing pink and orange shelves. "Ron! Hello!"

She grinned in amazement, eyeing the vast collection of old and new toys, tricks, spellbooks and potions. In the summertime, when George was still at Shell Cottage with Bill and Fleur, Ron had invested a great portion of his Ministry compensation into rebuilding the shop, and in a few months he single-handedly brought it to a state comparable with its former glory. The colours were even brighter, their advertisements bolder and naughtier, and Ginny knew from Ron's last letter that they were negotiating with a couple of retailers to extend their business in the North and in Ireland. A good portion of their revenue also came from Beauxbatons, where their products (particularly quills, Skiving Snackboxes and their WonderWitch range) were in great demand.

"George! Geo- mpppff!"

She let out a muffled laugh when an arm clasped around her waist and turned her around, pulling her in for a crushing hug.

"I can't believe you're actually here, Ginnybum!"

"Calm down, Ron, it really hasn't been that long!"

Ron let go of her finally, tapping her on the back lightly before eventually shoving his hands into the pockets of his magenta suit. It looked very odd on Ron, but Ginny decided not to comment on his choice of workwear.

"How are you?" asked Ron.

"Not bad at all, how are you? The shop is looking fabulous. It's been a while since I've last visited. I'm liking the fairy lights."

"Yeah, Hermione picked them. She doesn't usually like getting involved in anything that concerns the shop, but she made an exception that one time... Anyway. How come you've come all the way to London just to see the shop? Has something-" he looked her up and down with a frown and then smiled widely again in understanding. "Have you been expelled already, Ginny? You've set a new record."

"I have _not_ been expelled! Not yet at least."

But I might be very soon, she thought.

They strolled down the aisle and reached the counter, where Ginny sat, letting her feet dangle in the air.

"So what brings you to our humble establishment?"

"I missed you, so I came for a cup of tea. Isn't that reason enough?" Before he could reply, she waved her hand at him with laughter. "Kidding. I had a mild disagreement with Pansy Parkinson in Potions."

"A... mild disagreement?"

"Yeah, well, we had a fight."

"Did she hex you?"

"No, I mean a physical fight. She pushed me, so I pushed her back, and then she punched me, and maybe I gave her a bit of a poke too, I don't even know."

"So you still have to sit with that cow?"

"Sadly, yes. I tried talking to Charlie about it, but nothing's worked so far. Anyway, things got messy and we got interrupted. It wasn't my fault and I wasn't up for getting told off so I just got up and left. And I flooed to here."

"To stay?"

Ginny shrugged and suddenly her interest in décor became increasingly focused on the floor.

"I wouldn't actually mind leaving Hogwarts. You know my heart was never in it. But I would be a bad friend if I did it. It would be selfish, and you know I hate to be selfish."

The light jingling of the bell above the door announced the arrival of a customer.

"I'll go upstairs and say hi to George. I'll see you later."

"George isn't working today," said Ron quietly. "Not a good day for him. Hermione's in the flat though. She'll be chuffed to see you."

* * *

Chuffed was one thing Hermione certainly was not.

"I can't believe it! You _ran away_ , Ginny? Do you have any idea how much trouble you're in?! What will Charlie think? Oh, the nerve!"

Ginny stood in the middle of the living room, watching her friend pace around her, her heavy curls bouncing around her head as she did so.

Eventually she stopped.

"I love you," she said with a smile, "I really do, Ginny. Come here."

They embraced.

"I'm happy you're here," said Hermione. "Let's have tea."

Ginny followed her to the small kitchen, a narrow but suprisingly well-lit space that could only fit a small stove, a few tightly packed cupboard and a vintage plate-rack cluttered with an eclectic collection of bright-coloured tableware.

"So," said Hermione, fishing two thick porcelain mugs and a teapot out of the cupboard and somehow also producing a small jug for milk. "I've read your letters, but I want to hear it from you. Is it really that bad?"

"So bad, Hermione," Ginny moaned. "It's horribly boring. I miss Quidditch. I know they can't bring it back, there are still construction works around the stadium, but I really miss it. I haven't flown in weeks, it makes me so jittery..."

Hermione nodded in an attempt to be understanding, but it was evident that she knew very little about the healing effects of physical exercise.

"And it's quite gloomy in general. Very empty. All everyone talks about is homework. I'm feeling a bit lonely, to be perfectly honest with you."

The kettle whistled loudly.

"Lonely, you?" Hermione asked in surprise.

"It's not that I'm on my own. It just doesn't feel the same, you get me?"

They sat down on the couch. Ginny purposely avoided Hermione's eyes, taking in the cluttered living room, the stacks of books in the corners, the heavily ornamented floor pillows, some heavy-leafed plant in a terracotta pot, Hermione's desk by the window, and of course the ubiquitous pictures. Ron's birthday, the grand re-opening of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, some hiking trip in the Lake District. A Sunday dinner at the Burrow, Fleur and Bill's wedding, that family holiday in Egypt, Harry on a broomstick, Ron and Harry at a pub, Harry, Kingsley and a few other Aurors.

It was a lovely flat, but something about it made Ginny feel rather unwelcome.

She also felt that Hermione, as kind and sweet as she was, would not understand.

So she changed tack.

"It's also about Luna, you know," she said. "I worry about her."

"Is everything okay with her? How is she feeling?"

"She's fine. She says she's fine. It's what she doesn't tell me that worries me."

She took a sip of her tea and opened her mouth to say more, but before she managed a word, Hermione's voice cut in:

"You're talking about Malfoy, aren't you?"

"Yes, exactly."

"Ron told me you've mentioned him a lot in your letters. He's quite pleased you're so upset about it."

"Of course I'm upset! Aren't you?"

Hermione didn't get a chance to reply.

"Look, Hermione. There is something there that we don't know about and I'm determined to get to the bottom of it. I'm investigating the case. I already know that Malfoy's innocence is a scam, and that he-"

"Ginny, no, stop. I don't want to know. As much as I care for Luna's well-being, you're not helping her by doing this. Debating her life behind her back with other people, setting up teachers against you, wrestling with Pansy Parkinson..."

"We did _not_ wrestle. She hit me first."

"I'm not interested. Just give it a rest. You're exactly like Ron, you see conspiracies everywhere. Luna would probably appreciate it much more if you gave it a rest and focussed on supporting her choices."

Hermione's eyes were very wide and very serious.

"Please, Ginny. Let it go."

* * *

It was almost dinnertime when Ginny gave in to Hermione's advice and Flooed back to Hogwarts. She was greeted by her rather displeased brother Charlie, and a quarter of an hour long rant later, she found herself in Professor McGonagall's office.

Professor McGonagall was rather displeased too - in fact, the sour look on her sallow face made 'displeased' look like an understatement - but she didn't rant. Instead, she said:

"Miss Weasley... Ginny. You are an adult and are free to do as you please. I believe you need not be reminded that there are rules governing your behaviour whilst at Hogwarts, and I am certain you know that you breached a few of them today. You hardly need to be told why they're there and why any student should obey them. But I'd particularly like you to know why you need to be a bit more cooperative."

Here she shared a long look with Charlie, and then continued:

"Miss Parkinson and a few of her friends is here for a specific reason and neither I nor any other staff member had any choice when it came to accepting her. In order for her... stay with us to be fruitful, we are obliged to ensure that her education extends outside of the classrooom."

"She hit me first, I swear, professor McGonagall."

"That's not what I mean. Well, it is in a sense. But who started and who hit who is of no importance here. What matters is that you help us go through with Miss Parkinson's... rehabilitation, for lack of a better word. I realise it's unideal, but it must be done."

"By me? Why by me? Could you not have chosen someone, I don't know, someone she hates less?"

"No."

Professor McGonagall did not raise her voice, but something about its sudden firmness took Ginny by surprise.

"Please, Ginny," she continued in a softer tone. "Let me do my job."

Ginny understood quite acutely that Professor McGonagall was not one to be fought or challenged. Partly because any attempt at doing so was futile; she was truly implacable, it wasn't only an impression she gave. But more importantly, Ginny realised, there was no reason for it. They were on the same side. Ginny looked back at her great escape and her insides burned with embarrassment at her own childishness.

"So what am I expected to do?"

"You could start with your detention. Eight o'clock in the evening, the Potions classrom, every night until the end of the week. I've already had a chat with Miss Parkinson. She'll be there too."


	7. Chapter 7

_Hi all! Here is the chapter I've been waiting to publish for a long time. It's the longest yet (almost twice as long as the previous one), and the second part is a scene I've had in my head for a while and I rewrote it at least two times before it reached its final form... so I really hope you enjoy it! It would be lovely to hear your thoughts!_

* * *

 **7.**

"The great secret, Eliza, is not having bad manners or good manners or any other particular sort of manners, but having the same manner for all human souls: in short, behaving as if you were in Heaven, where there are no third-class carriages, and one soul is as good as another."

(George Bernard Shaw, _Pygmalion_ )

* * *

 **Monday, 11th January**

For the second time that day, Ginny ran as if her life depended on it.

When she'd realized what time it was, she'd jumped out of her seat and shoved a few stalling first years to the side before leaping out into the corridor, leaving behind her a confused and aggravated Fat Lady, whose portrait had just been pushed open in a manner some would call unnecessarily brutal.

She'd reached the moving staircase just as the clock began to strike eight. Each chime seemed to reverberate across the whole castle and filled Ginny with utmost panic.

Once she reached the ground floor, she sprinted down the hallway, then took a sharp turn into a smaller corridor which few people frequented and which she knew would take her to the Dungeons quicker than any other way. She had two chimes left when she reached the top of the stairs; she bolted down as fast as she could, taking three steps at a time and landing quite painfully at the bottom, but she didn't care to stop. Instead, the continued, hurrying past the entrance to the Slytherin common room and then to the right; and just as the final vibration resounded at the top of the bell tower, she found herself at the door to the Potions classroom.

The door was open and she walked in, ignoring the pulse thudding painfully in her temples and instead trying not to visibly gasp for air. To her relief, neither Professor Archambault nor Parkinson paid much attention to her state. Instead, they busied themselves lifting what resembled an armoured fish tank off the ground and placing it on the desk in front of them. It was only when Ginny approached them and stood to Pansy's right hand that Archambault spoke:

"Good evening, Miss Weasley. I trust that this time we will have the chance to enjoy your company for longer than the initial ten minutes."

"Yes, Professor," Ginny replied in a voice which she hoped emanated contrition and respect.

"Good."

Archambault stood in front them, hands laid flat on the top of the fish tank, and continued:

"As advanced potioneers, you are both aware how crucial high quality ingredients are to the preparation of effective potions. This evening I would like you to assist me with the treatment of these-" here she lifted the lid of the fish tank with some effort and placed it on the floor, and Ginny instinctively winced away at the foul smell that invaded her nostrils the moment the professor unclasped the glass lid, "-lovely, plump river glowworms."

Here, she picked up a pair of thin metal tongs and lowered them into the tank. When they were up again, they were holding tight a pale, wriggling mass of flesh, thick as a thumb and about twice as long. She watched it with some interest and then turned back to face the two girls.

"Miss Parkinson, any idea what this is?"

Pansy, whose face was twisted with digust, replied:

"Like you said, it's a river glowworm. When irritated, they... erm... release a dose of toxic mucus used in the brewing of a number of poisons."

"And antidotes," Ginny added, unable to help herself.

"Correct," said Archambault. "In the wild, these little tykes are in fact predators and are considered pests, but they will be very useful to us. As you can imagine, your task will be to extract the mucus so it can be stored, and then dispose of the worms. There is a chilling chest at your feet-" she pointed the tongs carelessly towards a metal case waiting on the floor, "once you are done with each glowworm,, deposit it in the chilling chest. The cold will stun them. Professor Weasley will process them tomorrow and use them as feed."

She waved the tongs again, causing the worm's pinkish flesh to dangle helplessly in the ear, and indicated an apparatus that loosely resembled a candlestick, except in place of the candle there was a thin, pointy rod. Archambault made a quiet whistling noise and a small blue flame appeared on the tip of the rod.

With her free hand, which until now she had kept behind her back, Archambault picked up a wide glass spoon-like utensil. She positioned it underneath the tongs she was holding, which she howered above the flame until one wriggly end of the worm briefly met the dancing blue flame. As soon as that happened, the worm visibly stiffened and emitted a bright green glow. Despite her disgust, Ginny watched in fascination as a thick, pearl coloured liquid began slowly dripping down on the spoon. Archambault tipped it into a wide-rimmed jar and dropped the worm into the cooling chest, which let out a hissing noise and a cloud of white fumes.

"That is your task for tonight. Be careful to handle the worms gently and avoid burning their heads. Understood?"

Ginny and Pansy both nodded. It seemed simple enough, Ginny thought; the dark water smelled disgusting, fair enough, but they would be able to avoid contact with it anyway, and the whole process seemed quite interesting.

"Right. Get to work then. Oh, one final thing. We only have one set of tongs available, and I need them for an assignment I'm working on. Fortunately, there are some gloves in the storage cupboard. Be sure to put them on and get on with it. Good luck."

She sent them both a very dry smile, and left.

When the side door closed behind her, Ginny and Pansy, until now as if frozen to their spots, finally moved, and Ginny let out a breath she didn't realize she'd been holding - and she regretted it the very minute she did it, because the stale smell that had receded slightly attacked her once again and almost made her gag.

Parkinson turned towards her. Her upper lip was curled in a grimace of disgust.

"So which one of us is gonna do it?" she asked.

"We're both doing it. I'll get us those gloves."

"I'll throw up the moment I put my hand in there, I swear to you," Pansy moaned.

"You can mop it up later," Ginny said disinterestedly, already searching through the multiple drawers and shelves of the storage cupboard. Eventually she came across neatly folded brown gloves made from thin, stretchy leather. She grabbed four of those and returned to the desk.

Pansy was still staring at the tank. Ginny hovered over it to see, too. The water was a dirty green and there was a layer of oily slime on top of it.

The stench overpowered her and she bent over to cough.

"Come on, Weasley, it can't be that disgusting to you," said Pansy. "Isn't that essentially what you bathwater smells like?"

"Save it, will you," said Ginny weakly.

As she held her breath and got up with her hand above the surface of the water, she thought that, indeed, this was hardly the most disgusting thing she'd ever done. Those were some nasty worms, sure, but what about the yearly de-gnoming of the garden at the Burrow she was forced to take part in since age six? What about that enormous spider that made Ron faint and that she successfully hexed and binned it after carrying it down the stairs, squishing its hairy legs between her fingers? Not to mention all the blood, pus, vomit and other nauseating liquids she witnessed, sometimes produced, and usually cleaned up?

What about the chickens she single-handedly beheaded when she was eleven?

Ginny shook that thought off when another sobering wave hit her nostrils.

 _I refuse to be moved by something so trivial_ , Ginny thought, bracing herself. _I also refuse to be moved by Pansy's taunts._

And with that in mind, she dipped her fingers, her hand, her wrist and then her forearm in the slimy tank.

"Ew, Weasley!" Pansy howled.

"Shut up and put your gloves on," Ginny growled. The water was cold, and the tank was deep enough that if she wasn't careful, it would reach above her glove and soak the sleeve of her robe.

"No, that's disgusting," said Pansy. Ginny wiggled her fingers and moved her arm slowly until eventually she encountered soft, fleshy resistance. Slowly, gently, she picked up what she found, and fished out a tick, jiggling worm.

"You're a bit wet, aren't you, Parkinson," Ginny said, showcasing the worm for Pansy to see. Pansy squirmed.

"I'm not!"

"Yeah you are, just look at yourself."

"I'm _not_ wet!"

Ginny suddenly lunged forward and jabbed Pansy on the shoulder with the worm she was holding; actually, she almost did that, because Pansy darted away with a horrifying scream.

"So wet!" Ginny snorted.

"Get over yourself," Pansy snapped with a squirm.

Ginny shook her head and returned to the desk.

"Alright, little guy, fun's over," Ginny muttered, squeezing the worm a little. "You're getting grilled..."

She found the glass spoon Archambault had used and turned to hover the worm above the flame, as the teacher had done.

But the flame was gone.

Confused, Ginny blew at the rod, once, twice, then whistled, but nothing worked.

"Parkinson," she called, looking up at Pansy, who was seated at the edge of a desk. "Come here. The fire's out."

"Light it back up," said Pansy.

"I've tried that, it's not working. Can you help me?"

"Why would I?"

"Don't be ridiculous, neither of us will get out of here until this is done. Just do it, will you?"

Pansy sauntered over to the desk, looking very smug; at least until that look was wiped off her face by an involuntary cringe when she inhaled the odour let out by the tank. Ginny realised her sense of smell must have been numbed, because she felt nothing.

Pansy blew at the metal rode, as Ginny had done, and it didn't work for her either. So she tried whistling, which also didn't work.

"That's odd," she remarked. "I guess it must've been some sort of spell."

"D'you got your wand?" Ginny asked.

"Of course I don't. Did you bring yours?"

"No," said Ginny.

"Go and ask Archambault to put the fire back on."

"Why me?"

"Why not?"

"Because I'm already holding a worm in my hand and you've been absolutely useless so far?" Ginny waved the worm in front of Pansy's face.

"She hates me, she won't like me storming into her office."

"She hates me too."

Pansy sighed.

"Alright, I'll knock on her door."

She did, but there was no reply.

"Professor Archambault?"

Silence.

Pansy opened the door and stuck her head in.

"She's not in here," she said. "What do we do?"

"You're asking me?"

"Yes. Got any ideas?"

Ginny bit her cheek in thought, then looked at the whiteish creature in her hand. She really wanted to get rid of it.

"Check the storage cupboard, maybe we can use something from there to light a fire. Like matches or a striker or something."

"On it."

Ginny stared at the worm, growing more and more uncomfortable, while Pansy rummaged through the drawers.

"There's nothing," said Pansy. "Merlin, why didn't that woman leave us anything?"

"What am I supposed to do with this worm?"

"Huh?"

"I'm still holding it. It's been a good five minutes. What am I supposed to do with it?"

"Chuck it into that blasted wormarium. When she comes back, we'll tell her she didn't leave us the proper equipment."

"I don't want to chuck it back in! That'll just mean I'll have to put my hand in there one extra time when Archambault comes back and tells us to do it anyway."

Pansy sighed. She was now facing Ginny, leaning against the desk. Her disgusted expression was gone. She, too, had apparently grown used to the foul smell.

"We've established the mucus is produced when the worm is irritated, right? Irritated. Not necessarily burnt. Maybe if you poke it... sort of... maybe that'll work?"

Ginny took a moment to mull that over. She wasn't sure that would have the desired effect, and somewhere at the back of her head there lurked the thought that Pansy could be trying to get her to do something embarrassing. But on the other hand... it really did seem as if they had no other option. They were unable to set fire to the rod, Archambault was nowhere in sight, and the perspective of spending the next two hours in the Potions classroom doing nothing was hardly a pleasant one.

"Alright," she said. "Let's do this."

Carefully, she positioned the worm just half an inch or so above the rod, and held the spoon out to catch the liquid she expected it to emit. She then lowered her hand slowly until the tip of the rod touched the limp flesh of the worm.

Nothing happened.

So she lifted her hand just so-so and sharply stuck the worm into the rod.

As expected, the worm shone brightly in alarm, and Ginny smiled excitedly; but half a second later her eyes widened in horror as the rigid creature she was holding between her fingers spurted out a jet of thin white juice at her, staining her glove, sleeve, the front of her robe and her exposed neck.

Ginny let out a shrill, piercing shriek, letting go of the worm and immediately pulling off her gloves and tugging at her robe to unbutton it. Pansy, wide-eyed, was cackling uncontrollably.

"You moron!" Ginny cried. "Have you forgotten this is pure poison? Get me a towel or something!"

Her neck was already starting to burn.

With her free hand, she rubbed at her neck with the edge of her robe and unbuttoned it as quickly as she could. When it finally slipped to her neck, Pansy was at her side, holding out a wet piece of cloth.

"This should soothe you," Pansy said. Ginny pressed the cloth against her neck and now exposed chest. It was icy cold.

"Thanks," she said somewhat reluctantly.

She fell onto a chair. Pansy kicked Ginny's robe underneath the table and pulled her protective gloves on.

"You've made a mess," she said sourly, kneeling to pick the stunned worm off the floor and dropping it into the cooling chest, which accepted the offering with a wheeze.

"Not my fault."

"Not my fault either."

Ginny pressed the towel to her neck.

"No, it's not your fault either."

She sighed.

"Look, I might go to the hospital wing just in case-"

"And leave me here with these worms of death?" Pansy squealed.

Ginny closed her eyes and counted to three. If Pansy's earlier jibes didn't rile her up, she would quietly suffer through the dangerously high notes of her voice, too, even if they made her blood boil.

"Come with me," she said. "Then we'll come back together and figure out what to do with this cock-up."

* * *

 **Thursday, 14th January**

The library was empty and silent. In the warm candlelight, Ginny inspected every desk, quietly Vanishing breadcrumbs and collecting quills and bits of parchment left behind on the tabletops. She even found a sugar quill, uneaten, wrapped in a layer of rustling pink paper. She hesitated for a moment, but pocketed it eventually. She was hungry, and sleepy, and tired. That sugar quill, smuggled into the library by some sneaky young witch or wizard and left behind as its owner hurried out to meet curfew, was going to be her reward.

Setting her wand aside on the desk, she lifted the stack of books that required re-shelving and began her round. Two Charms textbooks, check; _The Easy Guide to Apparition_ , check; _101 Essays on Unicorns_ , check; a dusty History of Magic tome, check, as Ginny heaved it up with effort and placed it on the shelf, where it belonged. Now she had to deal with items that belonged in the junior section, which probably also needed a bit of a clean, and a quick one at that, since ten o'clock was approaching fast and Ginny wasn't in the mood for another pep talk from Archambault about whiny Pansy Parkinson. Her Monday stunt had already put her on the radar, and she had resolved to be a pristine student. She and Parkinson suffered through three consecutive nights of detention together and they did so without a word of complaint uttered in Archambault's presence, although between themselves they shared many. On Monday, after they got back from the hospital wing, Pansy snuck back to the Slytherin common room and fetched her wand, which they used to provoke the worms at express speed. They took turns; one of them dipped both arms in the fish tank, moaning about how she was about to retch, and the other held Pansy's wand up and collected the mucus. It was messy and by the end of the session Pansy's shiny leather flats were covered in slime, as was the floor, the desks and the ends of Ginny's hair. But they made it in time, and Ginny couldn't help but feel proud.

Yes, that was the appropriate word. She was proud of herself and Pansy Parkinson. Mostly, she was proud of herself, because without her initiative they would never have got anything done. But she had to admit that Pansy was helpful that night, and her quick thinking saved Ginny's neck - literally.

On Tuesday they engaged in an activity slightly more typical of the detentions Ginny knew (and boy, if anyone currently pleasant at Hogwarts knew detentions, it was her), but no less unpleasant. They got given a bucket and two wet floorcloths and were told to mop a seemingly endless, steep flight of stairs that led to what Ginny assumed was Filch's old torture chamber. The task wasn't difficult, except perhaps for layers of dried dirt in the cracks between stones that looked and felt as if it had been there since the foundation of Hogwarts, and also for the fact that Pansy fell and thought she'd twisted her ankle and when it was established she hadn't, she complained for twenty minutes straight until she grew tired of talking. By the end of the detention, which was significantly shorter than the previous one, Ginny's knees were so sore she didn't manage to get up on her own.

On Wednesday they returned to the Potions classroom, where they were given a bunch of student records to order alphabetically. It was dull and occasioned more complaining and unfunny jokes from Pansy.

Ginny was grateful that her library shift was in the evening. Professor McGonagall had decided that keeping the library schedule in order was more important, and so their Thursday detention was rescheduled to Monday evening, and Ginny welcomed this night off. She was sure Pansy did too. Surprisingly enough, Ginny realised, it wasn't because Pansy's company was unpleasant - well, it wasn't exactly pleasant, but it wasn't _unberarable_. In fact, Ginny found that when they weren't insulting each other, they were quite an effective team. She figured it was because they shared a motivation, that of leaving the detention as soon as humanly possible. They didn't like each other. Perhaps they simply made the transition from openly despising each other to doing to quietly and tactfully. At times at least.

Lost in thought, Ginny collected the wooden box of wizard chess from the desk it was sat on and proceeded to the junior area, a tacky Noella Moore romance in hand and her collection of old _Prophets_ under her arm. She couldn't help but stop before the door just for a second. The cold wave that hit her, as it had the week before, was unmissable. She knew it was illogical to feel that way, but there was something about the Dark Magic that door had guarded for so many years, something about the equally Dark deeds that had sprung from it, that she couldn't ignore. They really should get rid of this door, Ginny thought, and perhaps paint the archway or morph its shape somehow. The room behind it was bright and colourful; why did it have to be preceded by a horrible door?

She opened it with a sigh, and it gave a loud screech before it gave in, swinging open slowly, inviting her in.

But Ginny stood as if glued to the floor. A hot flush hit her cheeks and her jaw was suddenly locked in anger.

Draco Malfoy, sprawled out on one of those shiny new bean bags with his knees and elbows wide apart as if he owned the place, looked up at her, briefly removing his gaze from the book he was holding; and as he recognized her, he turned his attention back to his reading, his expression perfectly blank.

"You need to get out of here, Malfoy," Ginny barked more aggressively than she'd meant to, still stood in the door frame as if glued to the floor.

"Huh?"

"I said get out of here."

"There's plenty of room for the two of us," said Draco Malfoy, not looking at her.

"It's almost ten and the library's about to be locked. You need to leave."

"I'm good right where I am, actually," said Malfoy.

"Stop pretending you don't understand—"

"Stop talking to me." He looked up at her again for a moment, shrugging his shoulders. "Just pretend I'm not here, do what you need to do and lock the door. I don't want to listen to you."

"You're not allowed to stay in here, you prat," said Ginny. She felt the urge to put her arms across her chest for extra protection, just in case he would launch a curse at her when she wasn't watching. As she shuffled, a rogue _Daily Prophet_ fell from her hand; she crouched down to pick it up and walked over to the cupboard in haste, shoving the newspapers into the pile. "I will report you to Archambault when she comes to lock the door. I'm not going to let you do whatever you want."

She rose, not looking at him, her back turned in his direction, her hands busy fitting the chess box on a shelf above her head.

"You've been doing your reading, I see," Malfoy said suddenly. His tone was bitter and his voice was louder than before.

Ginny turned around with a frown, and suddenly she understood what he'd meant, as she saw the bold letters reading _VICTIM OR CULPRIT?_ , upside down but still perfectly recognizable at the heading of a _Daily Prophet_ sticking out slightly from the pile.

"I've no idea what you mean," she lied casually, but her timing was wrong; he'd obviously seen her glance at the heading. She was determined to keep away from him, so she purposely fiddled about with the Noella Moore, pretending she didn't know where it belonged and shuffling the books around.

"I shouldn't be surprised really, it can't be the first time you're spying on my family. Found anything interesting?"

"Yeah, I loved the bit where you cry and beg them to spare your life. I cut it out and hung it over my bed."

"One of my best moments, that one. It was good enough for the whole of the Wizengamot, no wonder you liked it best. Although I don't imagine you're terribly hard to impress."

Ginny spun around, her eyes narrow.

"So you're not even hiding the fact that you lied. Not that I would ever have believed you to be truly sorry. And I know the Wizengamot didn't believe it either. I know why you're here. I know—"

And at that moment, the lights went off, the door slammed shut, and they were left in total darkness.

* * *

" _Lumos_."

"What happened, Malfoy? What did you do?"

"I didn't do anything."

Ginny felt her way to the wall and to the great door. She found the handle; gripped it hard; pushed and pulled, but to no avail.

"Great," she said. "Just wonderful. We've been locked out. I told you it would happen. If only you'd listened to me and left—"

"If only you hadn't started your moralizing tirade and left me alone, female Weasel. Now why don't you get your wand, try a couple of spells on the lock, and get yourself out of here, so I don't have to endure your company any longer."

Ginny reached into her pocket, ready to do just that. Her fingers found nothing. She placed her hand over her other pocket, then checked the inside of her robe and the hemline of the Quidditch sweats she was wearing underneath.

Dammit.

"I haven't got my wand on me," she said in a small voice.

"You haven't got your wand?" he sniggered.

"No. I must have left it on the desk."

"Lovely," said Malfoy.

Ginny puffed in anger.

"Why don't _you_ open that door so I can go and get it?"

" _Alohomora_ ," said Malfoy.

The door didn't move. In the complete darkness that surrounded them, Ginny heard a small gruntling noise coming from its direction as one spell hit another.

"What a shame," said Malfoy cheerfully. "Now you're stuck here."

"Try something else," Ginny demanded. Her voice was getting dangerously high-pitched, and she knew it was both because she was angry at being locked in and because not being able to locate Malfoy made her nervous.

He could attack her anytime and she wouldn't be able to protect herself. She tried to shrug that thought off.

"Do you have any particular spell in mind?"

"No. Do you?"

"I know a few," said Malfoy, "but I'm not sure the door slamming down the floor or breaking into pieces is the desired effect here."

"No, I suppose not," Ginny muttered.

" _Lumos_ ," came the reply, and she saw him again.

In the bluish light of his wand Malfoy's features seemed a lot more angular than the slightly pointy oval of his face would normally allow for, and the spell cast ominous shadows on his skin and made it seem gloomily pale. Ginny silently chastised herself for paying so much attention to his skin, or his face in general - a fairly attractive face, she would allow him that - and forced herself to look directly in his eyes instead, narrowing her own in the hopes of achieving a challenging stare. This sobered her. His eyes were cold and yet expressionless, a look he had perfected over the years. The way he looked at her made her want to take a few steps back, and she shifted a little, but refused to give in and move away.

At this moment, Ginny realized she had never stood this close to him. She'd always been good at avoiding him, especially when Harry was intent on tailing him, and although she'd brawled with a few Slytherins during her lifetime, Draco Malfoy had never been one of them. She now found that his proximity made her uneasy; all her senses heightened suddenly, and her heart was racing; her whole body seemed ready to fight or flee.

"I guess we really are stuck," she said, making an enormous effort to sound casual.

Malfoy didn't reply. Instead, he turned and threw a gentle _Incendio_ at the candles on the walls. He slouched back on his bean bag, which had taken the shape of his body, and resumed his reading. Ginny understood she was going to be ignored from now on, and she decided she could live with that.

There were a few blankets on one of the shelves, thicker than the ones in the Gryffindor common room, and Ginny arranged them on the floor in a corner, shielded from his sight by another comfortable bean bag. If she lay down with her head towards the centre of the room and her feet towards the wall, she would probably catch sight of Malfoy's own feet; but as she definitely did not want to see them, she positioned herself the other way around, facing the wall.

Lying on the floor did not compare to her dorm bed, but it wasn't uncomfortable. The creaky floorboards were now covered with a soft carpet, and the Hufflepuff blanket underneath her, folded in half, was warm, if a tad scratchy. Her fingers dug into the plushy carpet and she thought briefly that whoever was in charge of rearranging this room must have been seriously desperate to make it seem harmless and inviting. They did their job right, to a certain extent.

She fixed her eyes on the boiserie. The glossy surface of the wood glimmered in the candlelight. It was a soothing sight, almost homely. It reminded her of the fireplace they had at the Burrow. It used to have a bread oven above it and its walls were always covered in a thick layer of soot.

Thinking of home made her smile unwittingly. But it was a sad smile, and it became even sadder when all the memories from home came flooding back, and with them the most haunting memory of all, that of standing in the chill of the night dressed only in a nightgown, watching the flames consume their house.

After a painful amount of time she decided she wasn't going to fall asleep anytime soon. She propped herself up on an elbow as quietly as she could and tentatively searched the room for Malfoy.

He was still reading. He looked very comfortable, as he was almost in a horizontal position. She didn't know what the time was, how long had they been there, how long he had been in there; he must have come in before her library shift started, because she didn't see him come in. She'd gone there just after the Great Hall closed after dinner; she imagined Malfoy must have either eaten his very quickly or not eaten it at all. She reminded herself she was supposed to keep an eye on him, and keep an eye on Luna, too, just in case; she should have checked the Slytherin table. She made a mental note to check next time round.

She stuck her head out to look at him again, as quietly as she could. He was perfectly immobile and one might have thought he was asleep, or dead, if it wasn't for his arms and hands holding his book up.

"Are you asleep?" she asked.

She didn't _really_ expect him to answer. He'd made it very clear before he didn't appreciate interacting with her, and as a matter of fact, she didn't appreciate interacting with him either. But she was bored, and stuck in the library for the night, and somewhere at the back of her head there had appeared the wild idea that a little gentle prodding might guide her towards what he was up to. Of couse, he wouldn't willingly give her incriminating information, she wasn't stupid enought to expect that. She wasn't stupid in general, in fact she considered herself to be quite bright, and she hoped Malfoy might unintentionally drop a hint or two that she could then piece together into a fully fledged clue.

After a short instant, no more than two heartbeats, came the answer:

"No."

Ginny knew he couldn't see her, but she still made a face, raising her eyebrows as if to say, _and?_

Another heartbeat passed, and Malfoy's voice from across the room added:

"Why?"

She sat up.

"Can I ask you a question?"

"I don't know, can you?"

Ginny was surprised the answer he gave wasn't a flat "no" or at least a "sod off". It couldn't be that easy, could it?

"Why did you want to sleep here?"

"I am an adventurous soul," he replied lazily.

No. It never was easy with Draco Malfoy.

"That's not an answer," she demanded.

"Isn't it?"

"I'm pretty sure it was a lie."

"How are you sure?"

How was she? She didn't know him at all. All she knew of him was through Harry, and partly from Ron and Hermione also. But that in itself was a lot. There had been a period of time when Harry was positively _obsessed_ with Draco Malfoy.

The truth was, Malfoy was probably an excellent liar, and he sounded convincing all right, but Ginny wouldn't accept that for an answer.

"I can sense it," she replied. "Why did you _insist_ on sleeping here?"

"I've already answered that," he said. "And I did not lie."

"You didn't tell the truth."

"That doesn't necessarily mean I lied."

Before she could respond, he added:

"I'll tell you if you answer a question too. I'll know if you lie, so don't bother."

"What if I don't lie and I don't tell you the whole truth either?"

"I'll know that, too, and I'll find a way of extracting the truth from you."

Ginny acknowledged Draco Malfoy probably knew more than one way of doing that. He was menacing; but so was she.

"And besides, if you're anything like the Gryffindors I know - and they're all the same - you won't lie to me anyway."

That was offensive, especially because Ginny knew that she was, in fact, very different from the Gryffindors he knew.

For starters, as far as she was aware, none of them had grown up with not one, not two, but six older brothers, two of them Fred and George Weasley, in a household where lies, tricks, hexes and all that jazz were the norm. If you were to survive as a _female Weasley_ , you held on to what you could.

On top of that, none of the Gryffindors Malfoy knew had spent a year carrying a mortally dangerous magical artefact with them at age eleven. None of them had poured their heart out to, then gambled and negotiated with, and finally fought with a very young, very smooth-tongued and very slimy Tom Riddle.

And if that wasn't enough, there was something else. A dark, embarrassing secret she'd never told anyone about.

When she was eleven and seated in front of the entire student body of Hogwarts with the Sorting Hat on top of her head, the Hat's first thought was to put little Ginny in Slytherin.

It verbalized that thought to her. It made Ginny burn with shame when she thought the whole school might hear her, and just as she started calming down a little, she flared up again at the thought that she might actually be sorted into Slytherin. Her whole family had been in Gryffindor, with the notable exception of a few great-aunts that had been Hufflepuffs (and very proud ones at that). Her brothers and her parents and her grandparents - and also her _friends_ , the wonderful Harry Potter, he was a Gryffindor too! Slytherin terrified her. She knew enough about it to be absolutely sure it would be the last place she'd want to end up at. There wasn't a single witch or wizard who went bad who wasn't in Slytherin. She knew that.

She detested Slytherin. The Sorting Hat sensed that.

"Alright, alright," it muttered. "You're not the first child to tell me that. It would be an excellent fit for you, to be sure, but since you're so negative about it, you will surely find a suitable place in GRYFFINDOR!"

What followed was a deafening roar from the Gryffindor table. Ginny pranced down the stairs, an enormous beam plastered on her face.

Before this night in the library in the unlikely company of Draco Malfoy, she had only ever thought once of this moment, of the Sorting Hat's embarrassing and frankly insulting assumption that she would make an excellent - not meagre, not decent, an excellent Slytherin. That other time had been at the end of her first year at Hogwarts, when she was in the hospital wing, weak and shaken, barely even alive. She was alone when she awoke after that horrible, horrible night; it would be a few hours until the arrival of her parents. She supposed Harry lay a few beds away from her. She tried to get up to see if he was asleep, but she couldn't move a muscle. So she called for him, but he never replied, so she assumed he was asleep. The thought that he might not have made it out safely was there in her head, lurking, but she didn't allow it to materialise. She had discovered a while ago that control meant peace of mind, and she had mastered the skill of pushing thoughts away and tucking them into a small compartment of her consciousness, deep, deep down, where no one, not even herself, would find them.

She then thought of Ron and felt embarrassed that he hadn't been her first thought. She called out his name.

"Go back to sleep, Ginny," was his reply, something between a sigh and an annoyed grunt.

Satisfied, Ginny relaxed.

It was then that Professor Dumbledore entered the hospital wing.

"Ah, Miss Weasley, you are awake, I see," he said serenely, hovering above her. She remembered hazily that he had a very long beard, very white against the midnight blue of his robe. "How do you feel?"

"Fine, thank you," Ginny said bravely.

"I'm happy to hear that," said Professor Dumbledore. "I thought you might like some hot chocolate."

Ginny blinked. She definitely hadn't expected that.

"That... would be nice, thank you," she managed.

A steamy mug appeared on her bedside table. The smell was enticing, and Ginny suddenly remembered she was absolutely famished. She hadn't eaten in a long time. She wasn't sure if she was able to get up to drink it, though; her whole body was weak with exhaustion.

"Madame Pomfrey will surely bring you some lunch and your healing potions in a little while, Miss Weasley," said Professor Dumbledore with a smile. "It is best you get some rest for now."

And with that, he was gone. His footsteps were very quiet. She heard him open the door and leave.

She clenched her fists in exasperation, the effort, or perhaps her anger, causing her jaw to tremble. Her last vivid memories were Tom Riddle materializing in front of her in a flash of green, and dizziness, and a piercing cold, and fear, and weakness, and also an overwhelmingly wretching feeling she had never felt before but she immediately recognized: a pure, deep, unforgiving hatred. Towards Tom Riddle and towards herself. It was a feeling that would accompany her for the rest of her life. She'd never felt it so intensely afterwards, perhaps because she had been a child then and children live everything a hundred times more vividly than anyone else, and perhaps also because it had come as such a surprise, since she would never have imagined herself feeling it.

She felt it again just there, in the hospital wing. It was a fraction of what she had felt there, but it was definitely the same feeling, rippling through her head like Fiendfyre. She rationalised, she breathed deeply once and then a few more times, and eventually she calmed down. It was then that she thought of the Sorting Hat.

"My immediate choice for you, young lady, would be the noble house of Slytherin," it had said.

Oh, how she hated, _hated_ those words.

Maybe that was it? Maybe the fact that she was able to hate at all, and to hate so viscerally and powerfully? Maybe that was why Tom had chosen her, because he'd recognised their similarities, their innate Slytherin qualities that her eleven year old self had thought she could just set aside and ignore. They'd been there all along, and Tom had noticed them. He fed on them, sapped her of them and at the same time nourished them inside her.

* * *

 _"What if I don't lie and I don't tell you the whole truth either?"_

 _"I'll know that, too, and I'll find a way of extracting the truth from you. And besides, if you're anything like the Gryffindors I know - and they're all the same - you won't lie to me anyway."_

If you're anything like the Gryffindors I know... Ginny didn't dwell on it for too long. He knew nothing of her, that was her advantage over him. It might be beneficial to let him believe she was predictable.

"So what's the question?" she asked.

She thought she heard him sigh deeply before his voice reached her from across the room.

"Why are you spying on me?"

"I'm not spying on you," Ginny replied in her best indignant voice. She knew she sounded very convincing, but she also knew she'd been caught and there was no helping it. All she could do was stall.

"Don't test me, female Weasley. You came in here with a pile of articles on me and my family. You glare at me during meals and during the fortunately few classes we have together for longer than appropriate. I can assure you I know what it feels like to be followed, since I had many an unfortunate encounter with your sweetheart Potter back in the day. You've been on my heels for the past two weeks. So I repeat: why are you spying on me?"

"You're jumping to conclusions. So I've been catching up on the Prophet lately, my my, no need to make such a big deal about it."

"Like I said," his voice was sharper, louder, "I know when I'm being watched. What do you want from me? What do I need to do for you to leave me alone?"

Ginny wrapped the blanket around her arms and sat up against the wall. She still couldn't see him, but she did manage a glimpse while she was turning. He had set his book aside and while he wasn't sitting up, he appeared to be less relaxed than before.

It took a while, but eventually Ginny managed to blurt out:

"It's about Luna."

She decided she wanted her explanation to be as non-inflammatory as possible. She couldn't forget he was the one with a wand. So she continued as calmly as she could:

"She's around you an awful lot of time and I think she is mistaken about you. I don't want her to get hurt, because she's my friend. So I want to keep you in check. That's all."

"And digging up dirt about my family is going to help you exactly how?"

"I guess I hoped it would get me to the bottom of why she stoops to even looking at you, let alone spending time with you. Or maybe I just relish in your demise. I don't know. Take your pick."

The non-inflammatory part clearly wasn't working out so well.

She expected him to snap back at her, but he didn't. She leaned forward just enough to catch sight of him. He was still sitting on that bean bag with his legs very wide, staring at the ceiling, except now the emptiness of his face had been replaced by something Ginny couldn't quite describe. She admittedly hadn't seen that much of Draco Malfoy, but she'd seen people, and she'd witnessed a thousand expressions that, like this one, seemed a mixture of hostility and wistfulness, weariness and regret, and perhaps a few more things she couldn't quite name. It wasn't the first time she consciously thought that Malfoy was rather hard to read.

He started speaking, and she moved forward again, just an inch or two, so she could watch him without being watched by him.

"I'm only going to say this once, and only because I know Luna would prefer me to be frank with you." He paused for a short while, then continued quietly and painstakingly slowly, in a voice that didn't seem to be quite his, "a few things last year didn't quite go as planned for me. At one point, as you and thousands of people know, I had an Azkaban sentence hanging over my head. Luna, who was nothing more to me than an acquaintance and to whom I was probably even less, appeared in court, even though she didn't have to, and testified in a way she probably shouldn't have, specifically to get my arse out of Azkaban. I was astonished, anyone would be, really, so I asked to see her and I realized we had a lot more in common than I had previously thought. So now I am deeply indebted to her, and occasionally, indeed, find myself in her company. Is she mistaken, yes, undoubtedly. Do I plan on correcting her mistake? Nah."

Ginny blinked, processing what she'd just heard.

"I realize you might be wary of it all given the admittedly unpleasant circumstances in which we were acquainted. But-"

"By unpleasant circumstances you mean her being kept in the dungeons of your reeky house like an animal waiting for slaughter?" Ginny lashed out, unable to contain herself. It was only then when she realized that he could now fully see her. His face was empty again. She suddenly felt very uncomfortable under his gaze and she hugged the blanket tighter around herself for protection.

"Correct," he said in the same tone of voice. "Now that I have explained myself to you, would you be so kind to get back to where I can't see you? I won't bear it to look at you any longer."

Ginny rolled her eyes. He was a very dramatic boy, really.

"No," she insisted. "You still haven't told me why you intented to spend your night here in the first place."

"Oh, fuck off already, you're being nonsensical."

"I'm sure McGonagall would love to know that too, once I tell her I found you here."

"I'm sure McGonagall would also be very interested in why you weren't out of the library by that point."

Ginny narrowed her eyes threateningly.

"I'm a prefect. Or at least I was last year."

"So was I," Malfoy deadpanned. "You are not superior to me in any way."

"Apart from the fact that I'm not a Death Eater or a convicted criminal, amongst other things," Ginny said innocently.

If his stare was intense before, now it became almost unbearable.

Almost.

"Am I wrong to assume that?" Ginny asked, tilting her head.

"No," he conceded after a short yet tense silence. "You are quite right. I have nothing to hide."

"Tell me, then."

"Tell you what?"

"Why you've come here for the night."

"I have told you."

"No you haven't. "

"I have."

"No you haven't. I want the real reason. I can't understand why you'd possibly risk that, and why you'd choose the library, of all places."

"Why does it bother you so much?"

"Just tell me!"

"Fine. I've been here all evening and I decided to stay the night because I don't like being in my dorm. Will you fuck off now?"

Ginny frowned.

"Why?"

"Why what, why do I want you to fuck off? Because you're fucking infuriating and outrageously nosy, maybe?"

"No, I meant what's wrong with your dorm. Why don't you want to sleep there?"

"How is that any of your business, Weasley?"

It's not, Ginny thought, but I still want to know.

She didn't press the matter. She curled up under her Hufflepuff blanket and closed her eyes, suddenly feeling very heavy. Her heart was still beating unusually fast, so she focused on breathing slow and measured breaths, drowsiness overpowering with every second. Before she fell asleep, or as she was falling asleep, or perhaps when she was asleep already - she thought she heard the soft noise of Malfoy getting comfortable on his bean bag, and though her eyelids were shut, she perceived the subtle dimming of the candlelight, until they were surrounded by darkness.


End file.
